


Submission

by Prince_of_Elsinore



Series: Obsession [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Albinism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Brother/Brother Incest, Brothers, Incest, Multi, Sibling Incest, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 13:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 111,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2430170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prince_of_Elsinore/pseuds/Prince_of_Elsinore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Obsession." AU. Ludwig and Gilbert Beilschmidt are normal brothers. Close, but normal. At least, that's what they pretend. But they share a secret that could destroy their family, friendships, reputations, and even their relationship with each other. And trying to keep up the façade of normalcy every day takes a toll. How much can their love for each other withstand? [ONGOING]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: in addition to the story tags, there will be at various times graphic sex, drug and alcohol use, violence and gore, and coercive or abusive situations. I will try to mark individual chapters with warnings where appropriate.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Hetalia who populate this fic, just the story idea.

_"I hate you! I hate you I hate you I hate you!"_

_Ludwig looked up from his multiplication worksheet at the sound of his brother's voice ringing through the house. Footsteps rushed up the stairs, past his bedroom door, and down the hall to Gilbert's room. A door slammed shut, making the family pictures that hung in the hallway rattle in their frames._

_Ludwig waited in trepidation, but did not hear his father's footsteps following. Silently, he slipped off his bed and peeked into the hallway. It was empty._

_Downstairs, he could hear the sliding door that opened onto the back porch open and shut. His father had gone outside._

_Cautiously, Ludwig padded down the hall and knocked softly on his brother's door._

_"Gilbert? …Gilbert, can I come in?"_

_There was a pause, then a wet "I just wanna be alone."_

_Ludwig hung his head. He wished he could make his brother happy. So often, he seemed sullen or angry. The only time he seemed happy was when he was doing something that would only get him into more trouble with Dad. Ludwig tried to warn him, but Gilbert just brushed him off or got annoyed, complaining that Ludwig was being "un-awesome" and that big kids didn't have to listen to stupid parents. That always shut Ludwig up. He didn't want Gilbert to think he was un-awesome._

_Ludwig had turned away and started trudging back to his room when he heard Gilbert's voice through the door again._

_"Wait, Lud—" The door opened. Gilbert stood there, eyes red-rimmed and downcast. "You—you don't have to go. You can come in, if ya want," he offered._

_He stood back and let Ludwig into the room, then closed the door again._

_Ludwig perched on the foot of Gilbert's bed. Gilbert flopped down beside him, sprawled out on his back. Ludwig decided to lay down too, looking over at his brother._

_"What were you arguing about?"_

_Gilbert sniffled. "Nothin'. Just somethin' stupid."_

_"…It didn't sound like nothing."_

_"Tch." Gilbert turned to him and ruffled his hair. "Stop being a smarty-pants."_

_Ludwig pouted. "I'm not."_

_Gilbert sighed. "It's just…" He sniffed again. "It's not fair! None of my friends' parents are even half as strict as him! He doesn't let me do anything! It's like, he thinks I'm just gonna get into trouble if he gives me the tiniest bit of freedom."_

_Ludwig didn't say that Gilbert seemed to get into plenty of trouble even without more freedom. "Well… maybe you can negotiate something. Maybe you could talk and see what you could do that would prove you're responsible enough to have more freedom."_

_Gilbert narrowed his eyes at him and snorted. "You'll be a great diplomat when you grow up. Or a lawyer or something. Anyway, it's easy for you to say. He listens to you. He just doesn't listen to me."_

_Ludwig bit his lip. He wanted to say it wasn't true, but even at 11 years old he was well aware of the fact that he could get what he wanted from their father much more easily than Gilbert could. Gilbert knew it too; it was why he often asked the boy to make requests and suggestions for him, though it didn't work in every situation. Ludwig could ask if he and Gilbert could play soccer, or for the family to go to Gilbert's favorite restaurant, but he couldn't ask for them to go to PG-13 movies, and he certainly couldn't put M rated video games that Gilbert wanted on his Christmas list._

_Gilbert's face screwed up again. "He won't let me go to this party tomorrow just 'cause the guy who's hosting's parents won't be there. But like, half the grade is going! This is why no one thinks I'm cool! This is why I don't have more friends…" He broke off, lips quivering as he struggled to hold back tears. He sniffed and set his jaw determinedly._

_"…I think you're cool," said Ludwig quietly._

_Gilbert snorted, but the corner of his mouth twitched up a bit. "Thanks, Lud. Tch, I don't need more friends anyway. I like being alone." He glared at the ceiling._

_"But… you're not alone," Ludwig said, confused._

_Gilbert looked at him. "What?"_

_"I'm with you."_

_Gilbert smiled a little and rolled his eyes. "I meant in general, stupid."_

_Ludwig frowned. "I'm not stupid."_

_Gilbert snorted. "I know, don't take everything so literal."_

_"Literally."_

_"Huh?"_

_"It would be, 'don't take everything so literally' because it's an adverb, not an adjective."_

_Gilbert stuck his tongue out at his younger brother. "Whatever. I'm too awesome for grammar."_

_Ludwig looked at him skeptically. "But grammar rules apply to everyone. Even presidents have to use correct grammar."_

_"Our current president messes up grammar all the time. So there." Gilbert frowned. "But, actually he isn't awesome, so… never mind. But Lud, no one's gonna think you're cool if you're always such a grammar Nazi."_

_"Daddy said not to use that word."_

_"I don't give a fuck what Dad says."_

_"Gilbert!" Ludwig squeaked, scandalized._

_Gilbert laughed at him. "It's so easy to get you going."_

_Ludwig pouted. "Stop teasing me."_

_"Loosen up."_

_Ludwig crossed his arms. "Why should I?"_

_"Because, otherwise…" Gilbert's eyes gleamed mischievously. "I'll get you with the slobber finger!"_

_Ludwig squealed as Gilbert licked his finger and darted it out to poke his brother's cheek. Ludwig grabbed his wrist to stop him, but Gilbert's fingers were long and he still managed to twist his wrist so he could touch Ludwig's bare forearm with the wet finger._

_"Eeww!" Ludwig rubbed his arm off frantically on Gilbert's shirt._

_Gilbert laughed and licked his finger again, causing Ludwig to practically scream in terror. They wrestled around on the bed, Gilbert's laughter punctuated by Ludwig's string of "stop it stop it no please Gilbert no nonono!"_

_Finally Gilbert relented. "Kesesese, fine fine, I promise not to."_

_Ludwig stuck his tongue out. "Meanie."_

_Gilbert smirked and lay back down beside his brother. He fell silent, looking at the ceiling. Ludwig waited, wondering what he was thinking._

_Gilbert looked over at him. "I wish I was more like you."_

_Ludwig blinked in surprise. "Why?"_

_Gilbert looked down, suddenly sheepish. He shrugged. "Just… Dad loves you more than me," he said quietly._

_Ludwig's eyes widened. He wasn't sure how to respond to that. "I… I don't think… no he doesn't." He knew that's what he was supposed to say. He knew parents were supposed to love their children the same._

_Gilbert was silent. He looked like he was holding an egg in his mouth and trying not to crush it. But then he swallowed it, and Ludwig could almost follow the lump going down his throat with his eyes._

_"Things would be different… if Mutti was here," Gilbert whispered._

_Ludwig held his breath. Gilbert hardly ever talked about their mother. She was always Mutti, because she hadn't come to America with them, when their father started insisting on speaking English at home._

_"He, he blames me, that she left." Gilbert was staring into space, recalling a distant childhood in a distant country of which Ludwig had no memory._

_Ludwig waited, but Gilbert didn't say anything more. "…Why do you think she left?"_

_Gilbert shrugged morosely. "I dunno. I was only four, and you know Dad won't talk about it. Maybe it was me, for all I know."_

_"That doesn't make any sense. Why would she leave because of you?"_

_Gilbert didn't respond immediately, just breathed in and out a few times. "I don't know. Maybe she didn't want to have to pay for medical stuff, like my eye surgery. Dad says… well, one time when I asked him, all he said was that she wasn't ready for kids. I mean, they had to look after me, especially early on. My vision was even worse before the surgery, and all the stuff about skin care, on top of normal kid stuff. Or maybe… maybe she just didn't want a kid who looked like me. You know, moms want a kid that other people will be jealous of, right? And who would be jealous of me?"_

_Ludwig stared at his brother, unsure what he should say. Gilbert was just lying there, looking at the ceiling. Something was nagging at Ludwig's mind though. "Gilbert… do you wish you looked like me?" he asked hesitantly._

_Gilbert stiffened. He turned his gaze on his brother, and there was something in his eyes that Ludwig couldn't quite recognize, but it made him squirm and wonder if he shouldn't have asked. But then Gilbert looked away. He shrugged. "Sometimes I wonder what I would look like if I wasn't albino. I think I would look like you. But whatever. I don't care."_

_Ludwig was confused. Without thinking, he blurted out, "I wish I looked like you."_

_"No you don't," Gilbert spat, a little more viciously than he intended._

_Ludwig's lip quivered. He thought that would make Gilbert happy to hear. And it was true, too—sometimes, when Ludwig looked in the mirror, he wondered why he and Gilbert were so different, why Gilbert was so unique, while he was so boring. In fact, everything about Gilbert seemed exciting, while everything about him was plain, looks, personality and all. He would wish then, that he too had hair that shone like white gold in the sun and eyes like pools of fire._

_"Wh-why are you angry at me?"_

_Gilbert sighed. "I'm not. Just… you don't want to look like me, trust me."_

_Ludwig pursed his lips. He disagreed, but he kept that to himself._

"… _What did Mutti look like?" Ludwig had asked before, but he always liked hearing Gilbert describe her. Their father didn't keep any pictures of her in the house, at least not that Ludwig had ever seen._

" _I've told you, Lud."_

" _Tell me again."_

_Gilbert sighed again. "Okay. I don't remember her very well, but I remember her being tall, though maybe that's just because I was little. She had blond hair, but not as blond as Dad's. Kind of ash-blond, maybe, or strawberry—I'm not sure. I think she was pretty solid—not fat, or super skinny. I remember her being soft, though. That's what I remember best, when she would hold me and I'd cuddle up to her. She was warm and soft."_

_It struck Ludwig that he had no recollection of anyone ever holding him like that. His father wasn't very physically affectionate, and Ludwig had always been more reticent about hugging than Gilbert, though he had no idea why. Maybe this had something to do with it._

" _What was she like?" he whispered._

_Gilbert thought for a moment. "I can't say for sure. I mean, I remember being in her arms, and I remember her standing at the stove cooking something that smelled good, and this snatch of her driving the car... but I also have these vague memories of her being angry, with me or Dad… I don't know. I do remember her scolding me for sneaking extra dessert once. Oh yeah—and there was this song she would sing at bed time to get me to go to sleep… I don't remember how it went." He blinked a few times. "I guess I loved her."_

" _You miss her?"_

" _I didn't get to know her well enough to miss her. But, sometimes I wish she was here, or that we had a mom. Not just Dad."_

" _Gilbert… do you hate Dad?"_

_Gilbert was silent for a long time. He chewed his lip. "No," he said quietly, "I don't really hate him. I just wished he loved me more."_

…

"I should go." Ludwig's eyes connected with his brother's over the pillow where their heads rested. "I should shower before class."

"Oh, right." Gilbert swallowed. Yes, they both needed to shower. Because of what they had done last night.

Lips, soft as two petals, pressed against his and lingered for a moment.

It filled Ludwig with a giddy joy to kiss his brother like that. But it was still so foreign; every touch seemed so new. It was thrilling, but it made him nervous. He was testing the waters. Feeling in the dark for the strange, redefined, warped boundaries of their relationship. Was a sweet goodbye kiss too close to what a boyfriend would give? What was truly brotherly about any of this?

He drew away from the kiss, and without waiting for a reaction slipped off the bed and grabbed his clothes off the floor.

Gilbert watched him as he dressed, his eyes unreadable. "When will I see you again?"

Ludwig turned to his brother. The words felt like something out of a movie or a novel. Is that what their lives had become? A story of forbidden romance, lovers meeting in secret? Or was that too favorable a picture of what this really was?

"When do you want to see me again?"

Gilbert stiffened at the question. Then, carefully, he spoke: "Tonight?"

"Sure." Ludwig nodded, trying to seem casual, not letting on how much that one word meant to him. His brother wanted to see him again, _tonight_. Maybe this was okay after all. Maybe Gilbert really did want it too.

Gilbert breathed an inward sigh. He needed that reassurance. He needed now, more than ever, proof of Ludwig's love, to know that Ludwig really didn't hate him, to know that everything would—just maybe—be alright. He had been relieved beyond words when he had awoken this morning to find Ludwig still slumbering peacefully by his side. But still, he worried that Ludwig might change his mind, try to do the noble thing, and run away again. He worried that someday soon he might find that Ludwig had left without warning, bags packed and car gone.

But for now, he could worry less about that, and more about what would happen tonight.

…

Professor Kirkland cleared his throat. "So, in chapter six of Part Two, Emma has sunk into self-pity because her desire to be a virtuous wife for Charles cannot outweigh her desire for Leon. Let's take a look at what happens when she goes to the church, seeking spiritual guidance. I'm going to read a bit of the exchange between Madame Bovary and the priest, when she's trying to express her distress, starting on the bottom of page 75:

"'"Yes," said he, when he returned to Emma, unfolding his large cotton handkerchief, one corner of which he put between his teeth, "farmers are much to be pitied."

"Others, too," she replied.

"Assuredly. Town-labourers, for example."

"It is not they-"

"Pardon! I've there known poor mothers of families, virtuous women, I assure you, real saints, who wanted even bread."

"But those," replied Emma, and the corners of her mouth twitched as she spoke, "those, Monsieur le Cure, who have bread and have no-"

"Fire in the winter," said the priest.

"Oh, what does that matter?"

"What! What does it matter? It seems to me that when one has firing and food-for, after all-"

"My God! my God!" she sighed.

"It is indigestion, no doubt? You must get home, Madame Bovary; drink a little tea, that will strengthen you, or else a glass of fresh water with a little moist sugar."

"Why?" And she looked like one awaking from a dream.

"Well, you see, you were putting your hand to your forehead. I thought you felt faint." Then, bethinking himself, "But you were asking me something? What was it? I really don't remember."

"I? Nothing! nothing!" repeated Emma.'

"So… what's happening here? Who'd like to give their interpretation?"

Ludwig kept his eyes down on his book and pretended to be reading something. He hadn't finished the assigned pages for this week. Kirkland didn't usually call on people who didn't raise their hands, but Ludwig didn't want to take any chances. And he didn't want to disappoint his teacher.

Mathias, of course, was ready with an answer. "Well, it seems to be illustrating just how little people know of each other. I mean, the priest is supposed to be there to help people, but he's completely oblivious whenever she tries to bring up her problems. It really shows how far off the mark someone can be about what somebody else is thinking. Which is important in other parts of the book, too, like later when Emma's husband is so clueless that she's having affairs with other men. He's completely blind to her contempt of him and infidelity."

"Exactly." Kirkland nodded.

Ludwig grumbled inwardly. The walking-talking SparkNotes had done it again.

Just then the door opened and a latecomer tried to enter the room as discreetly as possible. Kirkland ignored them and went on, but Ludwig happened to glance up, only to immediately bury his nose back in his book.

It was Angie. Ludwig had almost forgotten he would have to see her today.

She took a seat at the back of the room. Her usual seat next to Ludwig wasn't open anyway. It took him a few seconds to zone back in on what Kirkland was saying.

"…a basic failure of communication. And that, that inadequacy of words to communicate true inner experience, that lack of true connection between minds, is indeed very important for the rest of the book. There is a pervasive sense of the futility of interpersonal relations; for all Emma's extra-marital affairs, she never achieves the happiness she expects they will bring. She leads, ultimately, a lonely, isolated existence, as she cannot reconcile the differences between fantasy and reality."

Something in Ludwig's brain clicked. He raised his hand.

"Yes, Ludwig." Kirkland graced him with one of those pleased smiles that Ludwig always craved.

"Well, it's just, that reminds me of what we were talking about with _Don Quixote_. They both seem to be making a sort of commentary on what happens when people try to live out their fantasies, or when they can't settle for reality, or play by the rules of society. Though—" he swallowed, hoping his point made sense, as he felt he had a personal stake in it—"neither of the books actually seem to be portraying society in such a great light either. So it raises of the question of how we're supposed to view these people who don't play by the rules. Are they just, stupid? Criminal? Because, Madame Bovary is committing adultery. Or more like martyrs?"

Ludwig winced a little. Maybe "martyrs" was going too far. At least, he wouldn't call himself a martyr for sleeping with his brother.

But Kirkland's smile grew wider as he tilted his head to the side, the way he did when he was thinking. "That's a very interesting point. And I think an argument could be made several ways. The _Don Quixote_ comparison is an intriguing one, especially if you think of Leon, Emma's first love interest—he reads books too, right? Romances. And he longs to live them out in reality, much like Don Quixote and his adventures.

"But let's leave Cervantes aside for the moment and think about Flaubert: how does Flaubert want us to view Emma? With compassion? Pity? Understanding? Contempt? And what role does society play in this book? Is it an oppressive force? But let's be careful when thinking about martyrdom; is Flaubert really going so far as to present Madame Bovary as a martyr, and saying that society ought to change, to allow more sexual freedom, or even simply more freedom to pursue one's fantasies, whatever they may be, or is he saying, 'this is the way things are, tragic but true, and we must learn to cope with it or fall to our ruin with the Madame Bovarys of the world'?"

Ludwig didn't like the sound of falling to ruin. He didn't say anything more for the rest of the class.

His mind drifted back to last night, to Gilbert's hard body against his, his warmth all around him under the sheets. He wondered what Gilbert had in mind for tonight. He wondered what Gilbert had in mind for the rest of the week, the semester, the year—and how often would they see each other after Gilbert graduated? Would Gilbert want to break off the affair then, if it even lasted that long? Would this continue their whole lives, or maybe only until Gilbert married—but what about Matt? Gilbert had talked about them living together next year—would he still want Ludwig then? Or what if Matt found out? Gilbert would never forgive him—

Suddenly Ludwig realized he was bending the pages of his book in distraction. He quickly tried to smooth them out, and not think too much about Gilbert.

At the end of class, he was grateful that Angie left quickly, so he was spared any awkward interaction. Looking back on it, he was actually quite ashamed of how he had acted with her. What kind of guy did she think he was? Would she tell her friends the whole story, how he'd asked her to do anal when they hardly knew each other?

He was so wrapped up in these thoughts that he didn't notice Professor Kirkland coming up to him as the rest of the class filed out the door.

"Ah, Ludwig, do you have a moment?"

"Oh, sure, professor."

"You know, you make some really insightful comments in class. Are you considering English as a major, by any chance?"

"Uh—" Ludwig was caught off-guard, but flattered. "Th-thank you, um, well, I was considering it—"

"Jolly good! Unfortunately, I never had much success convincing your brother to follow that path, though he really had a lot of promise. What's he doing again?"

"Music and history. But not music history, just, music, with a focus on production, and Central European history, I think, for a double major."

"Ah, well, he must be busy then."

"Yes." Ludwig nodded. He would prefer to get off the topic of his brother as soon as possible. He knew he was paranoid, but he was afraid of giving something away, or that somehow, Kirkland would be able to tell.

Kirkland nodded awkwardly. "Yes. Well. Anyhow, what I wanted to say is that, if you ever want to discuss the English major, feel free to talk to me. We could meet for tea perhaps—or coffee, as you Americans prefer."

"Oh, yes, thank you! I'd like that."

"Brilliant. Whenever you like. Well, so-long Ludwig." Kirkland picked up his briefcase, waved, and was out the door.

Ludwig's chest swelled a little as he left the classroom. Coffee with professors was one of those things he heard about other students doing, mostly older though—when they'd established a relationship. It meant a teacher really noticed you and took an interest in your work. It seemed, to Ludwig, very adult. He found himself wondering if Mathias had met Kirkland for coffee already. He secretly hoped he was the first in their class.

…

"Oh hey Ludwig!" greeted Feliciano as Ludwig entered their room. "I never saw you last night! Did you come back?"

"Oh, uh, no, I—stayed at Gilbert's."

"Ohhh. Again?"

Ludwig blushed slightly. "Well, uh, yes. I was—studying. With him. Or, in his room. And it got late, so." He didn't look at his roommate as he took off his coat and hung it in the closet.

"Hm. Don't you get tired of sleeping on the couch? Or does he have an extra bed?"

"No, I just share—" Shit. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Feliciano assumed he slept on the couch, because it was weird for brother's to sleep together. Even in a non-sexual way.

But now he'd put his foot in it. "Um, I usually sleep in Gilbert's bed." He tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Feliciano's face screwed up in confusion. "You mean you sleep together?"

_That's one way to say it._

"We've shared a bed often enough, since we were little. It's not that weird." He defended.

Feliciano's brow remained furrowed in thought for a moment, but then he shrugged. "Oh," he said, but he still looked confused.

…

Ludwig trailed his fingers along Gilbert's neck and stroked his hair. Gilbert made no response, eyes still on the floor.

Ludwig stopped. "What's the matter?"

Red eyes flickered up to his, then back down. "Nothing."

Ludwig rested his hand on his brother's back. "Is everything okay?"

Gilbert was silent for a long moment. Then he stood, getting off his bed and shrugging away from Ludwig's touch. "It's just… I don't know if I can really… jump into things." He swallowed. "Like that."

A knot formed in Ludwig's chest. "But I thought… you wanted…"

Gilbert turned to him. "I mean, it's not like we have to have sex every time we see each other, right?"

Ludwig blinked. "Oh, I guess, I mean—no, of course not, I just… I, I thought…" He looked down, frowning and berating himself for feeling so disappointed and hurt at that. He shouldn't—what Gilbert was saying made complete sense.

Gilbert sighed. He ran a hand over his face, and sighed again. "Wait a minute, I'll be back."

Gilbert left the room and went downstairs. Ludwig waited, wondering what his brother was doing, and what had changed since that morning. Maybe, when Gilbert said he wanted to see him tonight, he hadn't meant sex in the first place. Suddenly Ludwig felt very stupid and embarrassed.

Gilbert returned several minutes later. He locked the door behind him, walked over to where Ludwig sat on the bed, and began kissing his brother fiercely.

Ludwig was surprised, but responded happily, until he tasted something that made him pull back in shock.

"Gilbert! Did you—did you just go to get a drink?"

Gilbert tried to pull his brother's face back to his, but Ludwig pushed him off. "Are you drunk?!"

Gilbert let go of him and looked away. "Well, it's starting to hit me, yeah."

Ludwig stared at his brother in disbelief. After a few wordless moments he started, "And—and what, you thought I just wouldn't notice? Or that I wouldn't care?"

Gilbert was silent.

Disgusted and angry, Ludwig rose from the bed and grabbed his coat to go. Gilbert stopped him.

"Wait, Lud, come on—"

"No! I'm not—You need to get drunk to stand the thought of having sex with me now? Is that it?"

"I just—I just—" Gilbert looked at him helplessly, leaning against him with his hands balled up on his chest. "Don't go. I wanna be with you tonight. I told Mattie I had too much work to come over 'cause I wanted to be with you tonight," he pleaded.

Ludwig glared. "If you wanted to be with me then why did you have to drink?"

"I just… I just… need to get used to it, you know? Please… please…" Gilbert's hands were kneading into Ludwig's shirt front. His head loomed closer.

The better part of Ludwig said he should leave, but he lost all willpower when he felt his brother's mouth on his jaw and neck.

"I'm not even that drunk," Gilbert whispered hotly against his ear. His breath smelled of vodka.

But Ludwig was already aroused. He let his brother push him into the big comfy chair. Gilbert dropped down between his legs and began tugging at his pants. Ludwig helped him shuffle them down his thighs.

When Gilbert's scorching, velvet mouth enveloped the head of his cock for the first time, Ludwig nearly screamed. His head lolled back against the chair as Gilbert sucked him, though occasionally he managed to look down to see the head of white hair bobbing up and down, those blood-red eyes gazing up at him through feathery white lashes.

Just like he'd imagined so many times… but not quite.


	2. Chapter 2

"Let's go see a movie." Matthew turned to his boyfriend with a hopeful light in his eyes and a soft smile on his pink lips.

Gilbert gave a lopsided grin in return. "Can we neck in the back row?"

Matthew blushed, unsure how to react, but then giggled nervously in spite of himself.

Gilbert loved the way his adorable blush spread down his neck. He and Matt had just made up, and at the moment he was feeling lighter than he had in what seemed like eons. With Matt, it was so simple. They could walk down College Walk hand in hand in the sunshine, as they were doing now. They could kiss (however briefly, due to Matthew's shyness) in front of the library, as they had seconds ago. And it was okay, it was normal, it was how things were supposed to be.

Gilbert didn't think about Ludwig. Not for the moment, at least. He would have to think about him soon— _tonight_ , he had said—but not yet.

Matthew avoided Gilbert's question by asking one of his own. "What's out right now?"

"Hmm, dunno. Nothing good."

"You mean nothing with lots of car chases and explosions and sex?" asked Matthew dubiously.

"Hey, I have more complex tastes in movies than that!"

"Oh?"

"Yeah, like, comedies, and—and stuff with good stories!"

Matthew tried not to snort. "Oh, okay, so do you like rom-coms?"

Gilbert winced imperceptibly. "Uh… sure, yeah, I mean, in moderation. The good ones."

"Name a good rom-com."

Gilbert couldn't.

Matthew sighed. " _Love Actually_? _Four Weddings and a Funeral_? _Notting Hill_? Julia Roberts is a goddess. Oh, and the oldies but goodies: _Say Anything_ , _Tootsie_ , _Annie Hall_ , _When Harry Met Sally_... Haven't you seen any of them?"

Gilbert shook his head.

"That is going to have to change. What about musicals?"

"Well, sure, yeah. I like musicals." Gilbert shrugged. He normally wouldn't admit to liking musicals ( _Rent_ and _The Phantom of the Opera_ were among his secret pleasures, especially for singing in the shower), but he supposed he could sacrifice a bit of pride for Matt's happiness.

"Good! Then we can watch _Mamma Mia_! I love Meryl Streep!"

"…You know come to think of it there was a new sci-fi thriller playing at Cinema 4 that I kind of wanted to see—"

"Nope." Matthew grinned happily. "Tonight we are experiencing the romantic magic of the Greek Isles and Colin Firth."

Gilbert felt a sudden lurch of guilt. "Tonight? Uh… I—I really can't do tonight, I… have to finish an assignment…"

"Oh." Matthew looked like he was trying to hide his disappointment. Gilbert felt slimy.

"Um… but, maybe… maybe we'll have time to watch it before it gets too late?" he tried hopefully. It was only 4:30—surely he could fit in a movie with his boyfriend before… before meeting his brother.

Matt brightened immediately. "Okay! We can take the cupcakes back to my room and watch it now!"

They had reached their destination: Matthew's favorite artisan bakery just off campus.

Matthew led Gilbert inside and began surveying the display cases. Gilbert stayed behind him, still nagged by guilt. How could he go from being with Matt to being with Ludwig? Ludwig would want sex. Gilbert had led him to expect it. He felt an uneasy churning in his stomach.

But maybe—maybe they didn't have to have sex. Maybe it would be enough for his brother, if they only had sex every once in a while. Maybe he could still keep it to an occasional thing, so he didn't have to feel like he was cheating on Matt. He wasn't really cheating, was he? Ludwig was his brother, not his boyfriend. He and Matt occupied completely different roles in his life. Yes, it would be fine. He just wouldn't have sex with Ludwig tonight. It would be fine.

"Gilbert?"

"Huh?" Gilbert snapped out of his reverie.

"I asked what flavors do you want?"

"Oh right, sorry."

Together they picked a half-dozen cupcakes—2 maple, at Matthew's insistence—and left with their goods in tow. Matt couldn't wait to start on his favorite flavor, so he took one of the maple cupcakes out of the box and started eating it as they walked.

Gilbert eyed the sweet as Matthew chewed happily. He had never really understood the cupcake craze—it had always seemed rather girlish to him—but if there was one thing he and Matthew unequivocally shared, it was an enthusiasm for all things maple. Smirking mischievously, he leaned in and stole a bite as Matthew brought the cupcake back to his mouth.

Matthew squawked indignantly. "That's my maple cupcake! Yours is in the box!"

"Kesese, want it back?" he asked gleefully, showing off the half-chewed contents of his mouth.

Matthew blushed. "You're disgusting," he complained, but Gilbert could see the fondness behind the admonishment.

He swallowed and smiled. "You can have a bite of mine, then," he said, and nuzzled his nose into the hair curling around his boyfriend's neck, because he knew it would embarrass him. His hair always smelled like strawberries—probably his shampoo. Gilbert made a mental note to check in Matt's shower.

He should have seen it coming. The way the man with the baseball cap—he couldn't have been any older than them—eyed them distastefully as they approached; but he was so unassuming. When he shoved into Matthew's shoulder as he passed, with a sneering, barely-above-a-mutter "Faggots," they were both caught completely off guard.

Matthew stumbled back; the cupcake and the box from the bakery were knocked from his hands and scattered over the sidewalk.

Matthew stood stunned. Gilbert stared in disbelief for the split second it took to piece together what had just happened—and then he was running after the man, fury boiling up inside of him.

"Hey! Asshole!"

The man glanced over his shoulder. "Fuck off, whitey."

Gilbert stopped, rooted to the spot. Seething with helpless rage, he watched as the man disappeared around the corner. He wanted to run after him again, but what would he do if he caught up with him? Make him apologize like a kindergarten teacher admonishing a kid for not playing nice? He would have liked to give him a good pounding, but the other guy was slightly larger. Gilbert almost didn't care—didn't care if he got bruises that would take weeks to heal—but then he remembered Matt.

He turned back and saw his boyfriend still standing in the same spot, staring at the ruined desserts and icing smeared into the pavement.

"Mattie—" Gilbert hurried back to him. "Mattie, it's okay, we'll go buy some more—"

"That _jerk_." Matthew's voice was quiet but trembling with anger and hurt. "He has _no right_ —" He broke off, breathing shakily.

Gilbert put a hand on his boyfriend's back, uncertain what to do to comfort him best. "Let's—let's sit down," he suggested, guiding him to a nearby bench.

"Are you guys okay? I saw what happened," spoke an accented voice.

Gilbert looked up and saw a girl, maybe a freshman by the looks of it, eyeing them with concern. She had clear dark skin and long dark hair parted into pigtails. Gilbert thought she was rather pretty.

"Oh, uh, we'll be okay, thanks."

The girl sighed, looking at the spilled cupcakes. "That's so awful."

Gilbert shrugged. "We can get new ones."

"I meant the whole thing. That people think it's alright to do that."

"Oh. Yeah."

"Did you recognize him?"

"No."

"That's too bad. He looked like a student; he ought to be reported to the dean."

"Eh, I doubt the school would do anything. If they followed up on every minor case of harassment—well. They'd be… busy."

"But here—I mean, maybe I'm naïve, but honestly, I'm surprised. This school seemed so gay-friendly."

"It usually is," said Matthew quietly. "Just goes to show. Can happen anywhere."

Gilbert rubbed his boyfriend's back a little, trying to comfort him.

"Tell you what," said the girl. "Why don't we pick up these cupcakes and put them back in the box. I bet if we showed them at the bakery and told them what happened, they might give you a new batch for free. I can vouch for you, as a witness."

Gilbert gave a half-smile. "Heh, thanks. I guess it's worth a try. Oh, by the way, I'm Gilbert."

The girl smiled and held out her hand. "Gilbert? I'm Angie."

…

Gilbert couldn't sleep.

He lay staring at the dark ceiling of his room. The only sound was Ludwig's soft, deep breathing beside him. His brother had fallen asleep long ago.

Gilbert had given Ludwig a blow job for the first time. He figured it probably wouldn't be the last either. He'd been drunk; he'd swallowed his load. His little brother's hot load.

Then they'd gotten naked and made out for a while on his bed. The vodka had made that easier, too. Ludwig was strong and warm and something about his arms pressing around Gilbert's body made him feel very secure. It was so easy to give in. Too easy. Just let go, just float.

But something about his brother was still so young and tender. He could be so easily hurt. He'd never even been in a real relationship before.

Gilbert had to wonder if Ludwig could ever be in a real relationship. When they were kissing, mouths and bodies locked around each other, he could feel how much Ludwig wanted him. It was difficult to resist being so longed for, but it was also frightening. Ludwig should be feeling that for someone else. Was Gilbert ruining his chances of ever finding that? Of ever having a normal relationship? A normal life?

But they'd been over this. Gilbert had agreed to this, and he was sticking to his decision. This was the only way to keep Ludwig by him. Even with a boyfriend who loved him, even with friends who cared about him, Gilbert needed Ludwig. All his life, he'd needed him. More than he'd realized, until recently. He loved Ludwig more than anyone, anything, in the world.

His father had never believed in him. He only ever expressed his doubts in his eldest son. All praise was reserved for Ludwig. This could have led Gilbert to hate his younger brother, had it not been that Ludwig had always so clearly idolized him. In a world where he was picked on in school and had little true affection and support from his father, Ludwig had always been his anchor, his refuge. His angel.

But now he'd seen this angel bare, vulnerable, caught on the razor teeth of lust. Gilbert knew, of course, that his brother was a mortal human, not a divine creature, and had flaws like anyone. But he still felt like he'd personally dragged an angel down from the heavens and hacked his wings into bloody stumps. He wondered if they'd go to Hell together next.

Because surely this, intimate knowledge, of his brother—this raw openness to each other, like pulling off their very skins in each other's presence—was wrong. Right now he could feel Ludwig's hard, warm body pressed against his side, and while there was something undeniably appealing, comforting, even, about that, Gilbert knew that brothers were not meant to find comfort in each other's bodies. They were not meant to lie naked together in bed, as they were now.

Gilbert closed his eyes. He needed to stop thinking about this. He needed to sleep. Thinking would do him no good. At least, not right now.

He could feel Ludwig's ribcage rise and fall with every breath. His whole body, so full of life. Such a perfect, healthy body, full of promise. Gilbert tried not to think how he was squandering it.

He turned to his brother and nestled into him, trying to find some comfort. _He loves me, and that's what counts_ , he told himself. He tried to wriggle under his arm. He wanted to be held.

Ludwig stirred and lifted his head from the pillow. "Huh?" He was clearly only half awake.

"Sorry. Will—will you hold me?" Gilbert asked sheepishly, hoping his brother wouldn't remember this in the morning.

Ludwig mumbled something incomprehensible and draped his arm over his brother, snuggling up close.

For someone so large and stern, thought Gilbert, Ludwig was a surprisingly good snuggler. Gilbert felt assured, huddled under his brother's arm. It was still strange to be naked with him and feel the sticky skin of their hips and pelvises pressed together, but Gilbert tried not to focus on that. He focused instead on Ludwig's steady breathing and the constant beating of his heart, and eventually they lulled him to sleep.

…

Ludwig was walking back to his dorm late the next morning, not paying attention to his surroundings. He was too preoccupied. Gilbert had apologized for drinking the night before, and Ludwig had said it was okay.

But it wasn't really. He still felt disappointed in himself for accepting the blow job and making out with his brother while Gilbert was drunk. How was it any different than when Gilbert had kissed him before, when he was high or plastered and hadn't known what he was doing? Would Gilbert ever really be able to accept their relationship?

Again, Ludwig found himself wondering if it wouldn't just be better, for Gilbert's sake, to pack his things and leave. His father would be angry; he wouldn't understand no matter what bullshit excuse Ludwig cooked up, but he'd think of something.

"Ludwig."

Ludwig looked up in surprise. He hadn't noticed anyone walking towards him, but now he blushed. It was Angie.

"Oh, hello," he said uncertainly. She had stopped walking and stood facing him, so he had no choice but to stay and talk. He regarded her serious expression nervously.

"Glad I ran into you. I… wanted to talk to you."

"…Yes?" He didn't want to sound like an asshole, but he did feel extremely uncomfortable.

"I mean, I just, don't want things to be awkward, you know. We still have class together and all."

"No, right, sure. What… what did you want to talk about?" He hoped he sounded helpful and not-awkward.

"Well, I just—look. I don't want to you to think I'm naïve. One night stands are great, and if that's what it was—what we had—that's fine. Really. And we can both, just, be cool with that and move on. Whatever. But, I just, you know, wanted to clear things up. I mean, not that they necessarily need clearing up but—"

She stopped for a moment and looked at Ludwig's anxious face. "Um. Sorry. I'm rambling. Um, yeah. Okay, so, what I wanted to know was, just, whether you'd be interested, maybe, in seeing each other some more. Because, I think you're a cool guy, so, it's okay if you don't want to, but if you were open to…"

Angie trailed off, clearly hoping he'd say something. Ludwig blinked. "O-oh! Um… you mean... like dating?" He was relieved she didn't seem angry at him, but this? How was he supposed to respond to this?

Angie shrugged. "Yeah, sure." She seemed nervous, trying very hard to play it cool, like she didn't care too much about his answer.

Ludwig stood speechless for a moment. But Angie was waiting for his reply. Date? A girl? Well of course a girl. That's what he wanted, wasn't it? He still hadn't told anyone he might like men better, though Gilbert—and Francis—could probably guess as much. And dating would be good, wouldn't it? Maybe it would make Gilbert feel better, put him more at ease. He could show Gilbert he was capable of a relationship.

"Uh, sure." As soon as he said it, though, he realized he wasn't entirely certain what he was agreeing to. And he hadn't even really considered how he actually felt about Angie. He had found her somewhat attractive at the bar, when he was drunk and in need of emotional distraction. She was still pretty now, but did he feel attracted to her?

Angie smiled, relief clear on her features. "Oh, great! Well, what are you doing for lunch today?"

"Uh, no plans…" He smiled weakly. What had he gotten himself into?

…

"So, I'm seeing someone." Ludwig steeled himself for the response.

"…Oh? Who?" Gilbert sounded genuinely surprised, but not unpleased.

"A girl. From my lit class."

"…Do you like her?"

"Yeah, yeah. I mean, I… have to get to know her better though."

"Right, right. Great. That's great."

Ludwig nodded, even though Gilbert couldn't see it over the phone. "Yeah."

"…So…"

"So."

"...Do you wanna come over later?"

Ludwig tensed. What did that mean, 'do you wanna come over'? Sex? Or would Gilbert try what he tried last time?

"Uh, sure…"

"Okay. Um, I promised Mattie I'd sleep over at his place tonight, but… we'd have till about 11."

Ludwig suddenly felt very warm. They would have till 11 for what? Talking? Screwing? What did Gilbert actually want? "R-right, okay. See you in… an hour?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay, then."

"Right. Bye."

"Bye…"

_Click._

…

"Hey."

"Hey."

Ludwig stood just inside Gilbert's bedroom door, staring at his brother. Seeing what he would do. Did the fact he had been on a date—if one could even call eating food together and exchanging awkward small talk a date—with a girl change anything?

Gilbert took a deep breath and stood up. He didn't want to mess this up. He had to make up for last night.

He walked over to his brother, put his arms around his neck, and kissed him softly on the lips.

Ludwig didn't breath for several moments, melting into the warmth of his brother's skin.

Gilbert pulled away and Ludwig's eyes narrowed. "You're not drunk, are you?"

"No," said Gilbert solemnly.

But Ludwig was still hesitant. He looked down. "Gilbert… I don't want to force you. I know that you're… not attracted to me," he said quietly. "I don't want to push you to do something you find disgusting."

Gilbert felt something twist tight in his chest. "I… I don't think you're disgusting…"

"But…" Ludwig swallowed, "you think _that's_ disgusting. Doing that. With me."

Gilbert leaned his head against his brother's. "Ludwig…" He sighed. "I… It's true that I haven't felt the way you've felt for the past… what, two months you said?"

"About."

"Okay. So, I… I do need time, like I said last night. But, I… I want this…"

Ludwig met his brother's gaze. "Do you?"

Gilbert looked helplessly into Ludwig's hard blue eyes. "Don't… don't make this any more difficult than it has to be. I thought we had an agreement."

Ludwig let out a huff of air and looked away. "You make it sound like a contract."

Gilbert grabbed Ludwig's face in desperation and turned it to his. "I love you," he whispered fiercely against his lips, before kissing him hard. He needed to break through this shell of cynicism his brother had built up. It was so much easier, when they both just gave in, didn't think too much.

Ludwig broke the kiss. "Then are you going to fuck me?" he challenged in a harsh whisper.

Gilbert looked right at him. "Is that what you want?"

Ludwig was painfully aware of every inch where their bodies pressed together. Gilbert, Gilbert against him, around him… He wanted him inside too.

He nodded breathlessly.

"Okay then." Gilbert backed away. He jerked his head towards the bathroom. "You should probably clean yourself out first."

Ludwig blinked in confusion, then blushed deeply when he realized what Gilbert meant. "Uh… what?"

"Well I don't know about you, but I'm not particularly fond of shit on my dick. So."

Ludwig was frozen with mortification and shock at Gilbert's sudden change of tone.

Gilbert crossed his arms. "Chillax bro. Everybody poops. The enemas are under the sink." Part of Gilbert couldn't believe he was saying this, so casually, to his little brother. But then, it was so much easier not to acknowledge the awfulness of it all, just to let his mouth run, pretend there wasn't anything horribly wrong with any of this.

"U-u-uhhh, oh… Um, but, w-we didn't—you know, do that, before…"

Gilbert shrugged. "Heat of the moment, yada yada. A good bottom keeps himself clean though. Trust me, you don't want to be a dirty bottom."

Ludwig just blinked. "Right." He hurried to the bathroom, still red as a beet.

He thought as he searched for the little squeeze bottles in the cabinet under the sink. Gilbert seemed so nonchalant about it all. Did that mean he was really okay with it? Maybe everything really was fine. At least he could hope.

"Let me know if you need any help," called Gilbert through the door.

Ludwig flushed again and spun to yell at the door. "I think I can figure it out myself, thanks!"

He figured it would be pretty self-intuitive, but he did read the directions, just in case.

When Ludwig emerged from the bathroom he found Gilbert lounging on the bed. "Success?" he drawled.

Ludwig reddened. "Yes. Ahem."

Gilbert smirked. "Good." He scooted over and patted the spot next to him on the bed. "No one else is home," he added softly.

Ludwig lay down, heart fluttering wildly in his chest. Gilbert started kissing him immediately. Jump right into it, leave less time to think.

Ludwig hoped Gilbert couldn't tell that the enema had actually, embarrassingly, gotten him slightly aroused already. If he did notice, he didn't say.

Gilbert felt like a dirty pedophile. His brother may have been a legal adult and a fully grown man, physically speaking, but he couldn't help but feel that he was hurting him. He, the older one, the one with the responsibility. Acting completely selfishly. But the way Ludwig lunged so hungrily for his mouth, the way his hands grasped his body so greedily… _He wants it, it's okay, he wants it…_ Gilbert tried to ignore that that was probably also how a pedophile would justify his actions.

Soon they were palming each other through their jeans. Gilbert flipped himself around so that his head was by Ludwig's crotch and his feet were at the head of the bed. He mouthed the lump straining at the fabric of his brother's pants and Ludwig let out a shuddering half-moan, half-sigh.

Ludwig wanted to suck Gilbert off. Badly. He practically ripped open the front of his jeans and pulled out his long, hard dick. He loved how Gilbert's whole body tensed when he tried to swallow it whole, but he gagged on its impressive length and had to pull back.

Gilbert rolled them over so that Ludwig was on top of him, holding his shaft upright as he sucked. Gilbert reveled in the sweet, velvet feeling of Ludwig's mouth, but he managed to pull Ludwig's pants down as well. His cock sprang free and hovered over Gilbert's face. Gilbert took it in his mouth and sucked hard.

Ludwig could hardly keep his attention on Gilbert's erection with his brother's mouth working his own. His gut tightened with bliss, and he couldn't help but gyrate his hips slightly so he was gently fucking Gilbert's mouth. Oh, that sweet slide, that softest soft warmth… and it was Gilbert's. _Gilbert,_ his _brother_ , with his mouth wrapped perfectly around his cock…

After a few minutes Gilbert shifted slightly so he could bend his head up higher. He braced himself on Ludwig's hips, using his hands to part his cheeks. From here, he could see Ludwig's little puckered hole, surrounded by light, curling hairs, and beyond that his smooth, broad back, and his blond head bobbing enthusiastically along Gilbert's cock.

Oh, God, it was so wrong. And it felt amazing.

"Ffuck, Ludwig—" Gilbert panted as his brother rolled his balls deliciously in his warm, rough hand. Gilbert closed his eyes for a moment, then leaned in to suck wetly at his tiny hole, tongue rubbing against the ring of muscle, as he pumped Ludwig's cock.

"Oh, shit…" murmured Ludwig.

Gilbert smiled and lifted his head. "Please don't," he quipped, before ducking back down.

Ludwig blushed and swatted Gilbert's thigh. "No, you made sure of that," he muttered, before returning to his ministrations.

Gilbert had to admit to himself that it was almost frightening, how easy this was. That he himself could crack a joke while giving his little brother a rim job. But then, he usually dealt with serious things by joking.

Finally, Gilbert pulled away. They removed the rest of their clothes and Gilbert rummaged in his bedside drawer for a condom. "We should use these. We both have other partners now—potentially. At least, until we get checked for STDs." It made Gilbert feel a little better to be responsible about something, at least.

"Can I?" Ludwig asked, reaching for the condom. He wanted to stretch it over his brother's beautiful cock himself.

Gilbert blinked at him. "Oh, sure."

Ludwig unwrapped it and rolled it reverently up his brother's length.

Gilbert felt strange watching his brother handle his hard penis so carefully, lovingly. He wasn't sure if it made him want to wretch or if it was the sweetest thing he'd ever seen.

When Ludwig was done Gilbert positioned himself over his brother. "What position do you want?" he asked softly.

Ludwig swallowed. "Uh…" Doggy-style was easiest, but he wanted so badly to be able to hold Gilbert's hard body against him… He shuffled down on his back and spread his legs apart in answer.

Gilbert stuck a pillow below his brother's hips to lift them higher and tucked his arms under his knees. He positioned the tip of his cock against Ludwig's entrance.

Ludwig held his breath in anticipation. He wanted to feel his brother's cock inside him again, and this time, Gilbert wouldn't hate himself afterwards. He hoped.

Gilbert locked eyes with him just before he pushed in, and there seemed to be some inexpressible question in their carmine depths. Ludwig reached for his brother's hand and laced their fingers together.

Gilbert's breath caught. He'd never felt more exposed to anyone. It was only for a second, but it felt much longer; their eyes connected, their hands connected, their bodies bare and open and about to connect.

Gilbert blushed and broke off the eye contact. He moved his hips forward and felt Ludwig's opening resist for a moment, before finally giving way and letting the head of his cock pop inside.

Ludwig gasped and squeezed Gilbert's hand.

Gilbert used his free hand to pump his brother's length as he eased himself inside. Ludwig's walls constricted around his cock in a painfully pleasurable way. Gilbert groaned slightly. It was so hot inside his little brother…

Gilbert looked down at Ludwig helplessly. He couldn't deny the truth, that he was enjoying his younger brother's body. All he could do now was be honest.

He leaned down to kiss away the frown of pain on Ludwig's lips. Ludwig's arms wrapped tightly around him, pulling their chests together.

Gilbert began to move. It was a rocking motion that moved both their bodies together, pressing harder against each other with every thrust.

Ludwig's mouth hung open with a silent moan. He was so incredibly full, Gilbert was connected to him so incredibly deep inside…

The moan became voiced as Gilbert started to move his hips faster, rolling them sharply into his brother's ass and creating a lewd slapping sound.

"Ooohhhh, G-Gilbeeerrt…"

Their bodies moved in tandem, thrusting, bucking, rocking. Gilbert thought how terrifying it was, that their bodies should fit together so well, when they were never supposed to. A tiny part of him also thought it was incredibly unfair that something that felt so good should be so taboo, and that something so taboo should feel so good.

He panted and grunted, straining against Ludwig's muscular arms around him. He mouthed his jaw and neck and rained sloppy kisses on his mouth and cheeks and eyelids.

Ludwig began to whimper with every thrust. "Hah, hah, mmn, oh God yes, aahh, hhaaah OH FU—AH! GILBERT! THERE!"

Gilbert couldn't believe how vocal his straight-laced little brother could be in bed, but he drank in every delicious sound that spilled from his lips. He slammed his hips into him harder, panting and sweating with the effort. He gazed at Ludwig's flushed face, his eyes cloudy with lust, his usually tidy hair sticking to his moist forehead. His brother had never looked more beautiful.

"Unngh, harder, harder! AHH SHIT, YES, YESSS!" Ludwig was nearly sobbing now.

Gilbert could feel himself getting close too, but he wanted to let Ludwig finish first. He grabbed his dick and starting pumping furiously, trying to make his brother come.

A minute later he felt Ludwig tighten around him as his back arched off the bed and a ribbon of white blossomed from the tip of his cock. Ludwig groaned loudly as Gilbert milked his orgasm out.

Gilbert continued to pound into his brother's tight, hot hole. His breathing was ragged as he began groaning involuntarily.

Ludwig gripped the back of his neck. "I want it in my mouth, come in my mouth," he panted.

Gilbert was on the brink. He obeyed without thinking and withdrew, ripping off the condom and quickly shuffling forward so his brother could take him in his mouth. Ludwig sucked harshly, and that was all Gilbert needed to go over the edge.

"OHH, FUCK!" He came explosively into Ludwig's mouth, filling it with hot semen that spilled over his lips.

Ludwig was surprised by the amount of come, and by how hot it was fresh out of Gilbert's cock. He nearly choked on it, but swallowed as much as he could. He sucked some more to make sure he'd gotten it all before letting Gilbert's member slide out of his mouth.

Gilbert leaned heavily against the wall, skin flushed and gleaming with sweat. His mind was still cloudy with the bliss of orgasm, but one thought kept repeating like a broken record: _My little brother just swallowed my come. My little brother just swallowed my come._

He let himself flop down on the bed beside Ludwig. They lay side by side panting for a minute. Ludwig let one of his hands wander over to Gilbert's hip and trace lazy patterns on the skin.

Gilbert turned to look at him, but couldn't think of anything to say, so he went back to staring at the ceiling as his heart rate slowly returned to normal.

Finally Ludwig propped himself up on one elbow and leaned down to kiss his brother. Gilbert closed his eyes and returned it.

When Ludwig pulled back he looked down at him. "I enjoyed that," he said quietly, a little embarrassed.

 _I enjoyed that_. Suddenly, Gilbert found that incredibly funny. He'd just had sex with his brother, and that's what he had to say. He started to laugh. Incest. I enjoyed that!

"Kesese, kesese, I—I enjoyed that! Kesesese, that's—kesese, like the new promo for incest! Kesesese!"

Ludwig looked warily down at his brother. "Uh, Gilbert?"

Gilbert took a deep breath and stopped laughing suddenly. "Sorry. Sorry." He ran a hand over his face. Suddenly he didn't look very happy.

"…Are you okay?" Ludwig asked quietly, guilt creeping back into his conscience.

"Fine. Fine." Gilbert turned to look at him, then kissed him quickly. "I'm fine."

Ludwig was about to protest, when suddenly he heard a noise that made his blood run cold.

A sneeze. A very faint sneeze, coming from another room down the hall.

They weren't alone in the house.


	3. Chapter 3

The brothers froze, still as deer in headlights. But there was nothing more to be heard from down the hall.

Finally Ludwig turned to stare, wide-eyed, at his brother. "I thought you said we were alone?" he hissed.

Gilbert looked at him helplessly. "I thought we were!" he whispered back.

"Well who is it?"

"How the hell should I know! Probably Rod or Liz."

"Well how much did they hear?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Considering we can fuckin' hear them sneeze, and how loudly you were carryin' on, I'd say they probably heard a lot."

Ludwig blushed. "I wasn't the only one carrying on," he muttered. He pressed his hand to the bridge of his nose. "What are we going to do? Do you think… you know, that they… could tell…"

Gilbert snorted. "I find it hard to believe they'd be able to identify you by your sex noises," he said, but there was no denying the uncertainty in his eyes.

"…You have to make them think it was Matthew."

Gilbert thought for a moment. "Get dressed. Quietly."

They slid from the bed and Ludwig gathered his clothes, heart pounding, as Gilbert pulled on his boxers and tiptoed to the door. He gestured for Ludwig to step aside so he couldn't be seen, then poked his head out into the hall.

Ludwig could hear another door opening. Gilbert jerked his head back, but not quickly enough.

"Oh, hey Gilbert!" It was Elizaveta's voice.

Gilbert cringed, then slipped out the door, leaving it just a crack open behind him. Ludwig edged towards the bathroom, just in case she happened to look in.

"Hey, uh, you're back early…" Gilbert gulped audibly.

"Oh, uh yeah, sorry I didn't warn you…" Elizaveta's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Didn't realize you'd be bringing Matt around…"

"Oh, haha!" Gilbert gave an unnatural sounding laugh. He was speaking a little too loudly. "Guess you heard us… Sorry to disturb the peace!"

"Not at all, glad you two are having fun. Mind if I say hi?"

"NO!"

Ludwig heard his brother back into the door.

"Uh—I mean, sorry, don't think he's uh… decent, yet. Anyway, think he'd be embarrassed, you know…"

Elizaveta tittered. "Oh, well, nothing to worry about—didn't hear _too_ much."

"Good. I mean, uh… yeah, that's… good."

There was a pause. "…Why is that good? Getting kinky, were we?" Ludwig could practically hear the glint in her eye.

"N-no! I mean, oh c'mon, that's private."

"Oh. My. God. You were, weren't you! What was it? Bondage? Wax?"

" _No!_ I'm not talking about this!"

"Ha. You will later. I want all the details."

"You're not getting all the details! Not any of them in fact!"

"Whatever you say," she sang knowingly. "You never could keep a good sex story to yourself. Anyway, I was just on my way out, actually, so, I'll leave you two to it."

Ludwig imaged Elizaveta winking before heading off down the stairs.

Gilbert came back into the room, closing the door behind him and slumping against it.

They stood there for a minute. Neither looked at the other.

"That was too close," breathed Gilbert.

"Nice cover-up."

"Yeah. Well. You should get out of here before someone else comes. Don't want our stories to get mixed up."

"Right."

Ludwig put on his shoes—it was suddenly strange to think how they'd come off, that he'd slipped off his shoes to get in bed with his brother—and Gilbert led him down the stairs.

"When will I see you again?" asked Ludwig. Gilbert looked sullen. He didn't like that.

Gilbert turned to him. Ludwig paused on the last step, looking over the banister at his brother.

Gilbert shrugged. "I dunno. I'm around, y'know."

Ludwig opened his mouth to respond, but just then the front door opened.

"I forgot my ID!" Elizaveta panted, bustling inside. "Left it in my stupid other purse—"

Ludwig barely had time to take in her reappearance when she saw him and faltered. He wanted to bolt back upstairs, but his legs suddenly seemed quite disconnected from his brain's chain of command. It was too late anyway.

Gilbert didn't breathe. Elizaveta blinked. "Oh, hello Ludwig," she said, a furrow of confusion on her brow.

Ludwig couldn't respond. Apparently his tongue was also mutinying against his brain.

Elizaveta glanced at Gilbert, disconcerted by the brothers' tense faces. "Where's Matt?"

Gilbert tried opening his mouth, but he couldn't think of an excuse. He could see the gears working in Elizaveta's mind as she looked back and forth between them. He knew the game was up. He stood in helpless silence, waiting for it to click…

There. Elizaveta's eyes slid resolutely back to Gilbert, her mouth hanging slightly open. "He's not here," she whispered. It was more statement than question.

Gilbert swallowed and didn't answer. He didn't have to.

Suddenly Elizaveta drew in a shuddering breath. She stood speechless, unmoving, for a moment. Ludwig was sure the others would be able to hear his heart pounding to escape his ribcage as he watched, waited. Then, slowly, Elizaveta raised one hand to her mouth, seeming to hold her lips. A look of anguish flashed across her eyes, and then she spun around, groped for the door handle, and stumbled out, not bothering to close the door behind her.

Ludwig turned to his brother, panic-stricken. Gilbert met his eyes, and understood their desperate, unspoken question.

"You just—just go on, go on back home, I'll—I'll deal with her…"

"But she knows, she _knows!_ " Ludwig's voice was so tight he was almost surprised he had managed to get any sound out at all. His chest was constricting; he couldn't seem to get enough air.

"I know, it's—it's okay, just go, just go." Gilbert ushered him towards the door, but Ludwig could hear the panic caught in his throat. His brother was trying to keep his composure. With a sensation of tenderness that seemed completely incongruous with their current situation, Ludwig realized that even now, his brother was trying to protect him.

He wanted to stay, to help Gilbert face Elizaveta, stand by him. But Gilbert was insistent, and so Ludwig stumbled out to the sidewalk and forced himself to continue along the familiar route back to campus.

Breathe. In. Out. Walk. Left. Right.

His heart hammered in his ears.

Any moment, he was sure some minute tear in the familiar scenery around him would appear, open up and peel back like wallpaper, confirming the uncanny feeling that nothing around him was quite real. He could feel it all crumbling around him. What he saw was only a façade of normalcy, an empty shell; surely, soon he would be able to see it crumble too.

He stole a glance back at Gilbert's house every three seconds, as if to make sure it was still standing, until it was of sight.

…

Elizaveta rubbed her tear-streaked face as she sat, red-eyed, in Gilbert's chair.

Gilbert stared at her, leaning against his bed with arms crossed.

"This is so messed up," she whispered, leaning her forehead in her hand.

Gilbert stiffened. He didn't answer for a moment. "Maybe. So?"

Elizaveta shook her head. "Gilbert…" She sighed and looked back at him in almost the same exasperated fashion she had used to when they'd been together—except more pained. Genuinely pained. "What do you expect is going to happen?"

He met her gaze, eyes hard. "How should I know? No one can read the future."

"Oh please. That doesn't mean there's no such thing as foresight, which _clearly_ you lack. In _abundance_." Her voice was suddenly harsh.

"Okay, enlighten me," responded Gilbert, a mocking edge in his tone.

Elizaveta glared at him, lips pursed. "You can be so. Fucking. Stupid. You know that? There is no happy ending here. Don't you get it? I mean, _Christ_ Gil, your little brother! _Think of your little brother!"_

"I _AM_ thinking of him! I told you already, it's the only way we can be—"

"Oh for fuck's sake, that is such bullshit! Think! Just think, for a moment! How long do you think you'll be together, huh? Until someone finds out and separates you? Your father perhaps? You think he'd hesitate to cut you off? Because knowing your father, I sure don't. Or maybe until you get sick of each other, or have a falling out, or God forbid one of you decides to settle down in a _normal_ relationship. But however it happens, what do you think will happen to him? You are _hurting_ him Gilbert, this isn't right—"

"YOU CAN'T KNOW THAT. THAT'S NOT TRUE. Ludwig _loves_ me and I love _him_ and this is the only way to avoid being _apart_ and that would hurt him more than—"

"Listen to yourself! Gilbert, please, I am begging you as your _friend_. Maybe you can't bear to be apart. But _this is not the solution_. This is _selfish._ And _cowardly_. And you need to figure out a way to stop it. _For_ _your brother's sake_. He needs you to be his brother. He needs to be able to form normal relationships, attachments—"

"Oh c'mon Liz, since when are you such an advocate of traditional values?"

"Don't be obtuse. If he wants a boyfriend, fine. But someone _not related to him_ would be good." She stopped for a moment to get her breath back. She'd been spitting with fury, but suddenly, with her reddened nose and tear-matted eyelashes, she just looked weary as she gazed at him morosely. "Gilbert, you can't let him rely on you for—all his needs. That kind of dependence, it isn't healthy—"

"He has a girlfriend! And, and friends, and—"

"Oh, he has a girlfriend now? So the fact that _both_ of you are cheating on significant others is supposed to somehow make this okay?"

"It's not—it's not cheating, it's—we're brothers, we're not boyfriends, Matt's still my boyfriend…"

"Last time I checked, Gilbert, _having sex_ with someone other than your boyfriend, is considered cheating."

Gilbert was resolutely silent.

Elizaveta sighed and rested her forehead in her hand. "Let's… leave Matt out of this. I'm concerned about your brother. And you."

He glanced at her. "We don't need your concern."

She looked at him levelly for a minute. "You never could admit it when you were wrong. But you know you are. You said so yourself the other day. That's what all that was about, isn't it? The mattress, finding Ludwig—you said you'd made a big mistake. And you were right."

Gilbert looked at the floor. "Things have changed since then."

"Gilbert. This can only end in badly, and you know it. And better that it happens sooner rather than later. Cut it off, but be there for him—he'll get over it, and you'll—"

"What do you know?" Suddenly his voice turned fierce. "What do you know about any of it? Maybe we can be happy. We can find a way to be happy." The tears threatening to brim over his eyes betrayed him.

A deep sadness washed over Elizaveta's features. "Oh Gilbert," she said softly, "you have no idea how much I wish I could believe that."

…

_Knock. Knock._

Ludwig looked up from his desk, where he'd been sitting trying to pull himself together before Feliciano got back.

He heard one of his suitemates emerge from the other room to answer the door that let out onto the hallway.

"Hey, Herakles—my brother in?"

Gilbert's voice.

"Think so… hey Ludwig!"

Ludwig stood stiffly and walked briskly to open his room door.

He met Gilbert's eyes silently.

Gilbert swallowed. "Uh, Feliciano in?"

"No."

Herakles slipped back into his room with a friendly nod to Ludwig.

Ludwig stepped back to invite his brother inside, and closed his door behind them.

They stood just inside the doorway, staring at each other intently. "Well?" Ludwig burst out, unable to hold it back any longer.

"She's not…" Gilbert hesitated. "She's not going to tell anyone. She…" He looked down for a moment, pursing his lips with an uncharacteristically pensive expression. "She doesn't agree. With it. But." Gilbert sighed. He glanced back up at his brother and attempted a smile. "It's fine. It'll be fine."

Ludwig was momentarily relieved. She wasn't going to tell. And perhaps she hadn't completely lost her head over it either, perhaps… just maybe, she wouldn't hate them for it.

But his relief was short-lived, as the reality of it sunk in. Someone knew. Someone else knew, and now there was no way to pretend, as he might have been able had it all stayed in a private bubble between him and his brother, that this could somehow be normal, okay. Someone on the outside knew, and was judging them for it, in all likelihood. She saw his sick desire, his perverse, twisted heart. Ludwig had never felt more vulnerable, mortified, stripped bare and laid out under a microscope on an examining table.

He breathed in shakily a few times. Swallowed. "Okay," he breathed. "Okay." As if he was trying to convince himself it was.

Gilbert looked at him a few moments longer, his expression unreadable. "I have to get to Matt's. I'm late," he said softly.

Ludwig nodded, still slightly dazed. But as his brother turned to go, some sudden panic, an urge, seized him.

"Wait!" He caught the hem of Gilbert's jacket.

Gilbert turned to him and stood blinking, waiting.

"A…" Suddenly Ludwig was almost too embarrassed to say it. Stupid. This was a stupid idea. But, he needed to know. He was still feeling for the boundaries, groping for a wall in the dark so he could edge his way forward with a little more certainty. "…Kiss?"

Gilbert just stared at him, that same unreadable expression on his face. Ludwig's heart hammered in his chest and he could feel his face getting unbearably hot.

And then, in two short steps, Gilbert was right in front of him, and his soft lips pressed against his mouth. Ludwig parted his lips, stomach swooping a truly unreasonable amount from such a simple, chaste kiss.

He savored the slight moisture of Gilbert's mouth concealed behind those strikingly ruby lips—he'd always admired how they stood out against his pale skin, fascinated by the contrast even as a young boy—and pulled them into his mouth, wanting him closer. Gilbert was so warm, and Ludwig was scorching, tingly all over, ready to take Gilbert's tongue in—

His brother pulled away, and Ludwig felt as if he were left teetering on a cliff ledge and had just lost hold of his only lifeline. He forgot to breathe for several moments.

"I have to go."

Ludwig couldn't tell if it was an admonition, a warning, or an apology. He simply nodded numbly in return. And then Gilbert was gone.

…

"So where were you?" Matt didn't sound angry, just vaguely confused and concerned.

"Eh, something came up with Liz," Gilbert admitted truthfully as he leaned against the bed. "Had a little… disagreement." Gilbert paused a moment, thinking about the implications of that disagreement, about Ludwig and his warm, live lips… _"A… kiss?"_ he had asked.

Gilbert realized how he must appear to his boyfriend and immediately let a smirk work its way across his face. "It's nothing. She gets way too worked up about some stuff."

Matthew hummed pensively and came to lean against the bed beside him. "It doesn't look like nothing, from your face. Do you want to talk about it?"

Gilbert forced a laugh. "Nah, it's really not a big deal." _Except for that I'm cheating on you._

_No, I'm not._

_Yes, you clearly are._

_Ludwig's not my boyfriend._

_You have sex with him. With your little brother. Having sex with someone who's not your boyfriend is pretty much the definition of cheating._

… _Fuck off,_ Gilbert told the other side of his conscience—the one whose voice sounded disconcertingly close to Elizaveta's on occasion.

Matthew knew his boyfriend wasn't telling him everything, but he decided not to push the matter. Maybe he just needed a little cheering up. He slung an arm around his shoulders and nuzzled Gilbert's pale neck. "Well, how about we snuggle tonight, and you know what we can do tomorrow that always makes me feel better?"

"Hmm," Gilbert prompted Matthew on as he enjoyed the playful prodding of his nose against his nape.

"Animal Kingdom. Have you ever been in there? On the corner of Lakeview and High Street?"

Gilbert chuckled a little. He should have known that would be one of Matt's favorite places. He'd never been inside the stuffed animal store himself, but he'd passed their window before and had suffered several cute-attacks upon viewing their collections of baby pandas, bunnies, chicklets and the like. And of course, Matthew was one of the few people who knew of Gilbert's weakness for all things fluffy and cute. "No, but I think it's about time I went." He grinned.

"Sure is. Life is not lived, until you have set foot in that magical land of adorable splendor." Matthew grinned back.

Gilbert glanced around at Matthew's considerable plushie collection, spread out between bed and windowsill and bookshelves. "So, does that mean every stuffed animal in this room equates to a time you were feeling down and needed a cute fix? 'Cause then I'd have to worry about you being an addict, judging by all this."

Matthew giggled. "Well if it's any comfort, I don't only buy stuffed animals when I'm upset."

"Oh good, 'cause that would make this menagerie a fuckin' depressing sight."

That made Matthew laugh, and Matthew laughing made Gilbert happy; but it was not a full-bodied, uninhibited happiness. The happiness was a warmth that barely reached the subcutaneous level, and certainly did not touch his bones. They felt cold inside him.

The grin slipped from Gilbert's face. "Well I'm fuckin' tired and gotta lotta work to do tomorrow." _Because I was too busy fucking my brother today._

As usual, Gilbert wore his boxers to bed, while Matt wore his flannel PJs. Gilbert felt slightly guilty with so much flesh exposed to his boyfriend's eyes, as if he might be able to read on his skin who else had been touching him, whose fingers and whose mouth had trailed along his torso and neck just a few hours earlier. He pulled the blankets up quickly and wrapped his arms around Matthew's soft middle, burying his nose in the comfortingly familiar warmth of soft flannel. It smelled faintly of lavender—Matt's laundry detergent.

"Hey Mattie."

"Hmm."

… _I love you. I'm sorry._ "...I saw some really awesome pandas in the display at Animal Kingdom a while ago. Think they still have them?"

Matthew yawned. "Dunno. We'll check tomorrow. I'm sure they'll have something you'll like."

"…Hey Mattie."

"Yeah?"

 _I'm cheating on you. With my brother. And I'm not likely to stop any time soon. Did you know? Your boyfriend is having an incestuous affair. No, of course you don't know. But he doesn't replace you, Mattie. He doesn't._ "…Never mind."

Matthew rolled over to face Gilbert. "What is it?" He sounded a bit more awake now.

"Oh, nothing, just… I was thinking about what Liz said…"

"…What were you arguing about?"

Gilbert took a deep breath. It was a bit easier to say, now, under the blankets with the lights off. "About Ludwig, actually." Gilbert knew he couldn't say everything, but he didn't think he could stand any more lies. He knew this half-truth wouldn't absolve him, but even a false consolation was better than nothing. Let Mattie think he was confiding in him. It was almost true.

"Oh?" Matthew sounded surprised, curious.

"Yeah… I, uh, I'm worried about him."

In the dim glow of Matthew's nightlight Gilbert could read the concern on his boyfriend's face.

"Really? What's the matter? He's seemed fine to me, when I've seen him around."

"It's just…" Another deep breath. How could he say it? "Liz seems to think… Well, I think it's that, maybe Lud's just having a hard time… adjusting. He, uh—" Gilbert swallowed—"he's been wanting to… hang out with me, more. And, you know, I—" _I want it too, don't I?_ "I'm happy to spend time with him. I… I miss my little bro." Gilbert paused. He did miss him. Or he had, hadn't he? That's why he had wanted Ludwig to come here for school in the first place, wasn't it? So they could spend more time together. "…But Liz seems to think that, uh, I'm… maybe preventing him from… making other friends? Even though he has a girlfriend now! Apparently. Or, at least, he went on a date. …I dunno. I just…" Gilbert spoke slowly, deliberately. "If he needs me, I should be there for him, right?"

Gilbert waited with bated breath. He knew it wasn't really fair, to phrase it like that. Matthew's answer wouldn't really matter, because if he knew the truth—if he knew Gilbert and Ludwig were having sex—he would be horrified. Betrayed. Hurt.

"Well…" Matthew sounded thoughtful. "It seems to me that Ludwig does have friends. His suite has actually bonded really well, compared to the others on the floor. And if he's seeing someone, that's great. I mean, you know him better than I do. But I don't see what the problem is. It must be nice that you can help him with this transition. It wasn't really that way with me and Al. We kinda tried to stay as far away from each other as possible. But as long as it seems like he'll be fine without you next year, why shouldn't you take advantage of the time you have together?"

Gilbert exhaled slowly. He was relieved, and torn. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He was trying very hard not to feel guilty.

After a pause Matthew added, "It's so nice that you and Ludwig are close. I kinda envy that, you know? I mean, I love Al, but… more than half the time I feel like he forgets I even exist."

Gilbert looked over at his boyfriend, trying to hide his inward cringe. But maybe he could divert his attention to Matt and Alfred and away from his own fraternal relationship for a moment. "That's not true. I'm sure of it. Al's just kinda—"

"No, I mean it. He never even remembers my birthday, did you know that?"

"…Some people are bad with dates."

"My birthday, Gil. His brother's birthday."

Gilbert bit his lip. That was pretty bad. He couldn't imagine forgetting Ludwig's birthday. And come to think of it, he'd be quite hurt if Ludwig forgot his. "…Maybe… you should try spending more time together. Suggest doing something you both like. You guys don't hang out much, so how are things supposed to improve?"

"Ha, Al's idea of brotherly bonding is pummeling me with a baseball. It never ends well when we get together."

"Mm." Gilbert was at a loss. He wished he could say something to help. Matt always seemed to know the right thing to say to cheer him up, but Gilbert wasn't so good at that sort of thing.

"Hey." Suddenly Matt sounded perkier. "I know—what if—I mean, it's okay if you don't want to, but—maybe we could do, like, a brother thing. Y'know? You, me, Ludwig, and Al! Then Al wouldn't be able to get away with being such a jerk."

Gilbert tried desperately to ignore his stomach's uncomfortable clutching. This was a bad idea. Him, the two guys he was fucking, and the loose cannon that was Matt's brother. Formula for disaster. But he couldn't ignore the hopeful note in Matthew's voice. "Yeah," he finally forced out. "Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, Mattie."

…

Ludwig ran his thumb over the screen of his phone, rereading the message there for the umpteenth time.

_Hey, I had good time today—we should do lunch again soon._

He wished he had experience with this whole interpreting texts from maybe-girlfriends thing and setting up dates. He had started multiple replies, only to erase them before he could press send.

_Yeah, me too! Definitely!_

Too eager. Desperate. Was it even that good a date? Was Angie just being nice? Ludwig was very much aware that he wasn't too well versed in the art of conversation.

_Yes, I agree._

Formal. Stiff. Loser.

_Okay, when?_

Practical, but lackluster. He needed the right balance of enthusiasm and… coolness. Right. Play it cool, don't seem too needy, but not too cool—don't want to put her off either way.

_Me too, that would be great. When are you free?_

Simple. Not very elegant. But God, he was too tired to think up anything else at the moment.

Send.

The door opened and Feliciano came waltzing back into the room wrapped in a towel, his hair still wet. Ludwig thought for a moment. Maybe Feliciano didn't waltz, not exactly, but there was something dance-like in his motions—always energetic, but flowing, almost graceful. God, that was an embarrassing thought to have about his roommate. Even if they had kissed, that once… maybe especially if? A drunken fluke, that's all that was, anyway. Don't think about it. Not when his roommate was wrapped in a towel.

"Who are you texting?" Feliciano inquired brightly.

Ludwig politely averted his eyes as his roommate dropped his towel to slip on his boxers. Feliciano was far from modest.

"Uh… a girl, actually." Wait, why did he have to add "actually?" Was it unbelievable that he would be texting with a girl? He hoped not. "We, um… went on a date, sort of, and, she wants to see me again… I don't know what to call her at the moment. Nothing official, I guess." _Even though we've already had sex. Even did anal._

Feliciano didn't respond immediately, so Ludwig ventured a look back in his direction. Luckily he'd managed to get his boxers up, but he seemed frozen with a slightly stunned, blank look on his face.

He recovered quickly, though, and smiled cheerily. "A girl? Luddy, you didn't say you were seeing anyone!" He stood with his smile plastered to his face. Ludwig wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but Feliciano's wide grin seemed almost mask-like in its enthusiasm. But then, he had been more excited by lesser things in the past. He was rather inexplicable in that way.

"Oh, um, yeah, Angie—have you met Angie? She's… in my lit class."

Feliciano made a face as though he knew exactly who he was talking about and was delighted, though Ludwig was quite sure he didn't actually have a clue. But then the gears turned in the unpredictable boy's mind, and an expression of true recognition replaced the false one. "Wait… isn't that… Was that the girl we left you talking with at the bar?"

Ludwig blinked. The bar, that was so long ago. But not really, really it was just a few days ago. A few days ago that he had lost his virginity, that he had first had sex with Gilbert…

He cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, that's her." He hoped Feliciano hadn't guessed where that encounter had led. People would judge, if they knew. It wasn't usual to start dating a casual hookup from a bar bathroom.

"Ohhh, she was so pretty! Wow, you're so lucky Luuud! You must be so happy!"

"Um, yeah, I guess. I mean, yes, she seems… nice." _Nice_. That was lame.

Feliciano nodded, wide smile still fixed in place. He tilted his head a bit, as if trying to think of something to say, but them simply gave a short nod and hopped into his bed. "Do you mind using the lamp?" he asked over his shoulder as he snuggled—because really, there was no other way to describe the action other than snuggling—down under his comforter.

"Of course not. Or actually, I think I'll go to bed too." Ludwig knew there was no way he was getting any work done tonight.

By the time Ludwig crawled under his own covers, Feliciano was already snoring loudly. Ludwig looked across the room at his sleeping form enviously. He didn't think he'd have such luck falling asleep tonight.

He stared at the pale streaks of light from an outdoor lamppost slanting across the ceiling, thoughts racing. _She knows, she knows, somebody knows and will never look at me the same again, every time I look at Liz I'll know she knows and all she'll think of when she looks at me is how I've fucked my brother, probably will imagine for a brief moment how our bodies tangle on a bed before she can't stomach it. Gut reaction to limbs twining, skin on skin. The way Gilbert's body fits so perfectly along my back, and there are sheets of black satin around us, God they make him look pale, make his skin as white as dried bones. But then the sheets are gone, and I'm lying on the black bed next to Gilbert, naked, and Elizaveta is standing there, eyes boring holes into me and she's holding the black sheets, and the bed keeps getting bigger and bigger and the space between me and Gilbert is growing wider and wider and the edge of the bed is getting farther and farther away, can't get up, the mattress is much too soft and I keep sinking into it trying to crawl towards Gilbert but he's been swallowed up by black waves of satin, more like water, and the mattress has liquefied and I'm sinking, why didn't I ever learn to tread water? Did I not trust Dad enough to let him teach me? It would make sense, since I never did learn to swim—"Don't you trust me?" "No!"—and shit I'm never going to pass the swimming test I need to graduate, even though it's only three laps in my high school's natatorium. But God, when did my arms get so short? I can't even touch bottom in the shallow end, thank God for these inflatable arm bands with the little purple dolphins. And there's Feliciano and Herakles and Kiku standing at the edge of the pool—"Come on Lud, just five more laps to go!"—they must have changed the requirement since the time I got into the pool—and wow, most of the book club is there, cheering me on, except silent Berwald and Mathias, with that skeptical look on his face, and God I can't do this, I didn't even bring a bathing suit, no one told me I had to pass the test today. But maybe it's okay, being naked in front of them all, because I look just like a little kid again, and it's not so embarrassing when little kids are naked. Wow, my balls haven't even dropped yet. And here comes Angie, she's wading into the pool to help me out, and wow, that bathing suit shows a lot of cleavage—what happens if I get a boner in front of all these people? Even a little kid boner would be embarrassing. But she's already lifting me out of the water to sit me on the side of the pool so I guess it can't be helped, I can't cover myself now, and she laughs when she looks at my tiny dick and says "how cute," and even though I'm still nineteen years old isn't that a bit odd since I've got the body of a five-year-old, is it really okay that she's leaning in and kissing me on the mouth, deep and wet, and all the onlookers—the entire freshman class is in the bleachers now because they called an assembly to watch me take the swim test—are hooting encouragement. She pulls away and my mouth is still open, my eyes closed, and there's some metal poking around against my gums, and this dentist appointment is really overdue. I should have remembered to schedule it sooner since it's up to me now, Dad doesn't do stuff like schedule my appointments for me any more. But I'm here now, reclining in the dentist chair and that light is really hitting my eyes at an awful angle, why can't the dentist shift it just a bit? "Well, Ludwig"—British accent—"looking healthy in there, you had your X-rays last time so I don't need to do them again." Is Professor Kirkland really qualified for this? But then I remember he went to dentistry school before getting a PhD in literature. "Just going to have to do some intensive cleaning." He leans over me again, blocking out that goddamned light—finally—and pulls down his medical mask so he can put his mouth over mine. That's vaguely surprising, but then tongues do clean teeth just as well as those awful scrapey tools, and they feel a hell of a lot better, and I suppose Professor Kirkland knows what he's doing. He pulls back and grins down at me. "A plus, Ludwig. Bring your brother along next time, he's overdue for a cleaning." The idea of Professor Kirkland cleaning Gilbert's teeth—which naturally involves the tongue—stirs a little heat in my belly that feels kind of like jealousy, kind of like arousal._

Ludwig jerked awake with a raging hard-on, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what his dream had been about.


	4. Chapter 4, Part 1

"Ah, Ludwig. Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

Ludwig glanced up from his small table in the crowded coffee shop to see Professor Kirkland beaming down at him, nose tinted pink from the cold outside and panting slightly as he removed his scarf and dripping trench coat.

"Oh hello professor, not at all, I just got here."

Kirkland pulled out the chair opposite him and sat with a content sigh. "Good, good. Been running around all day in this god-awful weather. Really, it's as bad as London rain out there."

Ludwig glanced out the large front windows at the downpour and was glad to be in the coffee-scented warmth of the café. He hummed and nodded in agreement, because really, there wasn't anything else to say.

"Have you ever been to London?"

The question caught Ludwig off-guard. He turned to see his teacher's bright green, inquisitive eyes staring at him in a frankly curious expression. He swallowed slightly; somehow he felt as though he were being inspected, as if nothing could escape that keen, intelligent gaze.

But then he gathered himself. What did he have to fear from such a simple question, anyhow? And Kirkland's expression was not in any way menacing, merely—intrigued.

"Ah, yes, in fact, I was there a couple years ago on Christmas vacation, with Gilbert and my father."

Something vague flashed quickly across the professor's eyes, and he leaned back in his chair, curiosity apparently satisfied. "Oh, too bad, that's such a terrible time of year in the city. Gray and wet and cold—I can only stand London in the summer, really. Did you like it, though?" he added suddenly.

"Well, yes, it was quite cold as I remember, but we were mostly indoors, museums and such. I like that sort of thing though, so I enjoyed it actually." And then he added, before he could help himself, "I don't really think Gilbert did, though."

Kirkland snorted slightly, a partially-fond, partially-wry smile spreading over his lips. "Yes, actually, come to think of it I think he mentioned that once… none too pleased."

Ludwig didn't quite have the time to wonder in what situation Gilbert might have been discussing past vacations with his teacher, before Kirkland stood abruptly.

"Well, you know what you want? I'll get the coffees, my treat."

"Oh, no, you really don't have to—"

"No, no, please, I insist. English gentleman and all that. So what will it be?"

"Uh—just, coffee, black, then. Thank you, really."

"Not at all. One coffee, black, then, and a tea for me," said Kirkland, nodding, before his lanky figure wound its way through tables and umbrellas to reach the counter.

Ludwig blinked. It was odd, talking with his professor in such a casual manner and setting, and yet it didn't really feel all that odd at all, which made it all that much more odd. Ludwig shook his head slightly. He wasn't making any sense.

He glanced around the café again, taking in the patrons huddled over their steaming mugs and books. The clientele was definitely mostly students and professors, and Ludwig thought, not for the first time, that he really ought to try to get into town more. He was glad Professor Kirkland had suggested this place; maybe he would try coming here to study, away from the suffocating familiarity of his own room and the oppressive silence of the library.

When Kirkland returned, drinks in hand, they got down to business, discussing the credit requirements and prerequisites for an English major. It was one of the most credit-heavy majors, which was slightly intimidating, and yet Ludwig liked that he was discussing it, with someone who knew what they were talking about. They were making a plan, and plans were safe, secure, sure.

Kirkland also recommended a few classes that Ludwig take, including a literary analysis course he'd be teaching next semester. That pricked up Ludwig's ears; he'd like to continue working with Kirkland. He knew it was important to establish relationships with professors, and he seemed off to a good start.

"So," said Kirkland, settling back in his chair and relishing another sip of tea, "I was wondering if you happen to have thought any about the term paper. It's still a ways away, of course, but after Thanksgiving the semester goes quickly and it will be over before you know it. Of course, I'll hand out suggested topics, but if you want to come up with your own all you have to do is discuss it with me. I thought maybe, since you often seem very critically engaged with the texts, that something might have caught your interest?"

Ludwig set aside the pad and pen with which he had been dutifully taking notes. He'd barely had time recently to give thought to all his short-term assignments, let alone any long-term ones. But, now that Kirkland mentioned it, there were certain themes he would be interested in exploring.

"Well, to be honest, I don't have any concrete ideas yet, but, I am rather interested by the idea of… well, how… fantasy and reality are juxtaposed, especially through the act of reading. It seems we've discussed that with quite a few of the books, and characters are constantly getting into trouble for letting their imaginations go wild, or for taking what they read too literally and trying to attain the things they read about in the real world. It's as if, for some reason, these authors themselves don't trust the written word, or maybe they're just somehow commenting on its power to shape thoughts, but—it's always an interesting question, whether it's really the act of reading that plants a thought, like say, adultery for the lovers in Dante's _Inferno_ , or whether that potential already exists, and reading is somehow a catalyst. But still, without the act of reading, would it ever have happened? Where do you place the onus of responsibility, for the adultery, or Don Quixote's madness, or Madame Bovary's ruin?"

Ludwig stopped, slightly red-faced, realizing he had been talking too quickly. He hoped desperately he hadn't stumbled too much over his words, that he had sounded at least somewhat eloquent and intelligent to his professor.

The tension seeped out of his shoulders just slightly when he saw Kirkland smile and nod, the same smile and nod he so often used in the classroom when he was pleased with a comment or question.

"Well, the question of responsibility is naturally an intriguing one, but I think it really only skims the surface. Stories are, after all, fantasies given form, and in turn, they form fantasies. This is the constant dialogue between those who write, what they write about, and those who read, and I believe it touches on the very reason why we feel the urge to create or consume. Now, you could write a whole dissertation and a half on where reality ends and fantasy begins, or vice versa, for any single author, but for the considerably limited purposes of this paper, perhaps you ought to consider the idea of reading as a form of experience, or perhaps even writing, for that matter. Why don't you take a look back at Montaigne's "On Experience"; there are many promising ideas to explore there, although rather than trying to pass a final judgment on the validity of reading as a form of experience, perhaps you could analyze and contrast how different authors present reading; as pure, truthful experience, or as false, misleading fantasy, and so on. You could take it any number of directions."

Ludwig realized he was nodding like a bobblehead doll and immediately stopped. "Yes, that sounds fantastic, thank you. I'll definitely look into that."

Kirkland looked pleased, and perhaps even excited, which made Ludwig in turn pleased and excited. He checked the time on his phone; he'd have to leave soon to meet Angie for dinner. Their first official "date."

He was about to start making his excuses and pack up when he realized there was something else he'd been wanting to ask his teacher. He steeled himself, gulping down the last of his now too-cold coffee.

"Ah, professor, I was wondering—I remember you mentioned something about my brother, being a good student, and that you wanted him to be an English major? It's just, I was wondering—well, it was surprising, that's all, Gilbert's never really seemed to be one for literature."

Somewhere in the back of his mind he was kicking himself for even mentioning Gilbert, but he couldn't contain his curiosity. Kirkland's comments were just one more reminder that he didn't know everything there was to know about his brother, that perhaps that person he loved so completely and consumingly was more a stranger than he thought.

Something stiffened slightly in Kirkland's posture, the ease and enthusiasm of a moment before gone. He looked thoughtful, and perhaps, if Ludwig hadn't known any better, or rather, hadn't thought it completely absurd, a trick of the lights and his overactive imagination when it came to anything to do with his brother, just a little bit sad, too.

"Surprising, hm. Well, your brother…" Ludwig had to suppress a slight shudder at those words, _your brother_ , like an accusation. "Gilbert had a very unique point of view, on… just about everything. Perhaps not your typical English major, if there is such a thing, but it was… refreshing. A very unique voice in writing, too. I remember—" and here Kirkland laughed slightly, that fond, wry grin on his face again—"I remember how his essays used to make me laugh. Always so tongue-in-cheek, irreverent, a real bent for humor. I'd have to curb him back sometimes, but… I thought it was a shame, to let that go to waste. But, of course I understand that he had, has, other passions, talents. And who knows, perhaps he can put his writing to use in those areas." Kirkland was staring into the dregs of his teacup as he added, softly, "I think perhaps I pushed the issue a little too hard, and he pushed back." He smiled ruefully.

Ludwig mirrored Kirkland's grin. "Well, Gilbert can be... quite stubborn, that way." He was thinking of their father.

Kirkland gave another small laugh. "Well, can't be helped. I'm glad to hear he's doing well though."

Ludwig's stomach clenched at that. Then Kirkland added, hesitantly, "Do say hello to your brother for me, won't you? And tell him… well, if he ever does feel like dropping by, my door is open."

Five minutes later, as Ludwig was walking, hunched under his umbrella, to the restaurant where he was to meet Angie, his thoughts wandered from Gilbert and the English major he could have been, to Kirkland, and whether his professor found him half as interesting as he did his brother. Perhaps, after Gilbert, he was a boring disappointment. His brother never ceased to remind him that he lacked a sense of humor. But then he remembered how Kirkland's eyes had lit up when they were discussing his potential paper topic, so perhaps he wasn't so disappointing, after all. Just different.

He stepped straight into a puddle off a curb and cursed, trying to shake the water from his shoe. It squelched, hopelessly soaked, as he continued across the street.

Perhaps he ought to try discussing literature with Gilbert. What did his brother think of Montaigne? Had he read "On Cannibals"? Had Kirkland mentioned incest in his lecture on that essay when Gilbert was in his class, and had Gilbert flinched, or thought of Ludwig and been vaguely horrified and disgusted?

Ludwig watched the colorful smears of streetlights and car lights reflecting on the shiny pavement as huge ideas about the nature of fantasy and reality, experience and thought, took vague, shadowy shape in his mind. But they were far too grand for him to put down in words, not yet, perhaps not ever. And he couldn't help thinking, just for a brief moment, as he stepped through the door of the restaurant on the corner and shook the droplets from his umbrella, that maybe he should have simply written a story about brothers having sex, rather than actually having sex with his brother.

…

A waiter led him to a table by the window where Angie sat waiting. The place was nice enough to have white tablecloths, but they'd both made sure to choose somewhere within their budget. They'd settled ahead of time that they would split the bill—Angie had insisted, and Ludwig hadn't put up much resistance. He knew it wasn't exactly traditional, but nothing about their situation was really very traditional.

Angie gave him a bright smile as he sat down across from her. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting," he said nervously, and the prospect of an entire dinner together, the burden of keeping up conversation the whole time, suddenly seemed quite intimidating.

"No, it's fine! Gave me enough time to look at the menu, and let all the other guys in the restaurant wonder if anyone would be joining me. They'll be disappointed now," she joked, with a self-deprecating laugh.

Ludwig laughed along nervously. "I'm sure they are," he said, because it seemed like the right thing to say, but he blushed slightly.

Glancing around the room quickly, he couldn't help but think that he did seem to be the lucky guy that night. Angie wasn't very dressed up, but her clothes flattered her curves as always, and perhaps dipped a little lower on her chest than usual. Her hair was loose, rather than in her customary long pigtails.

She looked beautiful, he realized, and for some reason that made him uncomfortable. Maybe he didn't like the idea of other guys looking at her, or looking at him, trying to judge whether he was out of his league, or knowing from his awkwardness that this was his first real date, or even thinking that they were an established couple. Maybe it was a combination of all those things. All he knew for sure was that he wished Angie wouldn't lean on the table in a way that squeezed her breasts together quite so much.

Ordering was the easy part; looking at a menu and deciding what to eat didn't require too much talking. Waiting for the food, though, was the worst; nothing to distract them from each other now.

Angie was telling him about something funny that had happened while she was in the library earlier that day, and he was smiling and laughing along as best he could, deliberately not looking down her shirt, when suddenly the absurdity of the whole thing struck him like a baseball bat.

Here he was, on a date in a restaurant with white tablecloths, pretending to do the whole "getting to know you," "taking it slow" thing with a girl he'd fucked against the wall of a bar bathroom. Hell, it was a wonder she could even look at him, considering how he'd acted that night. Sure, it'd been consensual, but they'd both been drunk, and Ludwig had been the one who'd asked for anal. He felt like the world's biggest douche-bag. So what the fuck was he doing in a button-down and slacks, sitting in a restaurant with white tablecloths, looking like 'such a nice boy, so polite, so serious, awfully quiet,' as he'd been described so many times in his life?

And it wasn't only that. The cheerful girl sitting across from him had no clue that yesterday, about this time, he'd been licking his brother's sperm from his face as Gilbert gazed down at him, wide-eyed and practically trembling with the aftershocks of orgasm. That Ludwig loved the feel of his brother's hot, stiff length practically choking him, or sliding into unknowable depths inside of him, and couldn't wait to feel these things again. For the past week had thought about nothing but these things, when there wasn't anything else requiring his immediate attention.

And he had told Gilbert it was alright, because he was seeing someone. He could still have normal relationships, he would show him.

This wasn't even a normal relationship.

He laughed lightly as Angie finished her story, and finally, thank god, the food arrived, delaying the need to come up with another topic.

He was such a fucking hypocrite.

…

Gilbert had learned his lesson well Sophomore year: never drink alone in your room, or else it will become the site of all your drunken, depressed musings and will never be rid of those associations. You don't want that kind of shit in your personal space.

And so it was on the couch of the upstairs den that he settled with a plastic water bottle, filled with half vodka, half tap water. If he put on some music and opened a magazine on the table in front of him, he would look like he was simply enjoying a quiet Friday night in, should one of his roommates happen to walk by. Matt would be coming over later, to spend the night, but by then he would have sobered up a bit, and he could pass off a bit of sluggishness as the result of a few drinks at a party.

It had been Elizaveta who had driven him to this, he told himself. Her pointedly not-accusing looks and purposefully un-judgmental voice while they were both working in the kitchen. Actually, Gilbert had been there first, and then Liz had bustled in insisting that she had to make her dinner right then, like she couldn't wait 15 minutes until Gilbert would be done thawing his frozen pizza and washing his dishes. And then, worse still, her carefully cheerful suggestion that he eat at the counter rather than disappearing into his room, because her food would be done soon and she could join him. Oh joy.

The whole time they sat there eating—or in Gilbert's case, more like picking at his food—Elizaveta carried on a string of chatter, small-talk, with Gilbert giving only the most necessary short responses, not to seem annoyed or angry, but simply to show how much he didn't care, how he could see straight through her talking-about-anything-but-what-I-know-you-do-with-your-brother bull shit.

And now, as if the incessant press of Liz's voice echoing in his head was the only key needed to unlock the door he'd shoved those thoughts behind, everything Elizaveta had said before, when they were talking about what she'd just learned he did with his brother, came flooding to the front of his mind.

He took a swig from the bottle and let it burn his throat, gagging at the taste. He hated vodka, but that was why it was his drink of choice for situations like this. He didn't want to fool himself into thinking he was drinking just to enjoy the beverage; no, he found the nastiest shit he could, because he was drinking to get drunk and that was that.

_Cut it off. Be there for him. Be his brother._

But he couldn't do that. _Ludwig needs me. This is the only way. To avoid being apart._

Another swig.

_Selfish. Cowardly._

…Was it? How could it be selfish, if he was doing it for Ludwig? _Ludwig loves me. Needs me._

_You're hurting him. What do you think is going to happen?_

Two swigs.

… _Fuck. Fuck if I know._

Gilbert took another long swallow, mind drifting to the day before, his little brother down on his knees and Gilbert's cock in his mouth. Gilbert had done it without thinking, had let Ludwig go from kissing him to going down on him, because it was easier to do it all without thinking. And he'd painted Ludwig's face with his come, and Ludwig had licked it off, all of it, carefully using his fingers to gather up each white, gooey string and wipe it off on his tongue, and something twisted up Gilbert's gut, his chest, his head, as he watched in blank fascination, something he hadn't thought about at the time, because that was the rule. No thinking.

But now he was thinking. Thanks to Eliza-fucking-veta. And remembering that moment, that twisting feeling that so completely scrambled his thoughts and caught his lungs and turned his insides to liquid, he knew what it was.

He had liked it.

No, he had fucking loved it.

Long pull from the plastic vodka-water bottle.

_Ludwig loves me. Needs me._

And that was just it. That look of complete devotion, admiration, in Ludwig's eyes as he sucked his brother's cock. The absolute submission as he took his come on his face with a breathy whimper. That was _need_.

Perfect little Ludwig would do anything for his big brother.

_God, I am a sick, selfish bastard._

Longer pull from the bottle.

_But I would do anything for him too, wouldn't I? That makes it okay, doesn't it? …Doesn't it?_

The voice in his head didn't have any more answers.

Even if some dark, twisted part of Gilbert wanted it though, it was still Ludwig who wanted it first, Ludwig who made him choose, _take me this way or lose me_.

So it couldn't be Gilbert's fault.

Unless…

There were some creeping doubts, things whispering in the back of his mind that seemed to be growing gradually louder. He had no idea how long they'd been there; maybe for a very long time, but so quiet he hadn't noticed, or had just learned to tune them out, like static on a radio. Indistinct, fuzzy annoyances he had had no reason or desire to listen to closely. But now they demanded his attention, he couldn't block them out.

Because really, how many brothers their age even shared a bed ever?

And how many slept with an arm around the other at that? How many fucked a girl together? Wouldn't normal brother's find that odd? Wouldn't some alarm go off in their head, _too close, too close_? Hadn't Gilbert himself seen and willfully ignored warning signs? Ludwig leaning into him as he came when they were jacking off together. Ludwig suddenly backing off when they were wrestling in the lake, body and face too tense. Ludwig sitting so close on the couch, just because he wanted to. All the questions about Gilbert's love life.

God, the _kisses_. That was definitely Gilbert's fault.

But Gilbert had let it all slip by, never stopping to question, not even daring to wonder, not even when he knew something was bothering his brother and he'd had the feeling of something sticky and dark in the back of his mind he didn't want to dwell on.

But he should have dwelled on it. Because when it came to Ludwig, it was his job not to flinch away from anything, no matter how ugly, that might be hurting his brother.

And if he'd had the courage to face it before, maybe none of this would be happening now. But he hadn't; he'd been a coward.

He'd been afraid.

Gilbert took another slow, thoughtful drink. Even as it was all coming into focus, everything was slipping back into vodka-induced obscurity, like fiddling with the dial on a pair of binoculars. There was still something missing, he hadn't quite found the perfect dial position that would lock everything into clear, sharp outlines. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

What, exactly, had he been afraid of, even long before Ludwig confessed, before he'd been forced to confront the consequences of his reckless actions?

It all hinged on that, somehow he knew that much.

But now the alcohol had accomplished its intended purpose, numbing his senses and dulling his mind, leveling his thoughts into indistinct, beige blobs.

He went to take another drink, and after a few long moments of tilting the bottle back in vain, discovered it was empty.

The nights they'd shared a bed—which they hadn't done for six years before this semester, Gilbert realized, and it felt like being struck by lightening, but still, what did that _mean_ —and the way he'd held Ludwig against him, and the time Ludwig came while leaning against his arm and Gilbert had laughed it off, and just the way he'd caught Ludwig looking at him sometimes—all these replayed like silent, grainy footage in Gilbert's mind, and he didn't understand how he could have been so blind, as fucking blind as Oedipus (the comparison made him snort in laughter to the thin air).

But there was a tightness in his chest, a deep ache in his core, every time he thought of his brother's blue eyes looking into his, and he thought maybe that had something to do with it.

…

Ludwig realized, around the time that half the food on their plates was gone, that Angie must be trying to impress him. That was standard, wasn't it? Girls trying to impress guys. Vice versa, too, but Ludwig was too caught up in his own head, too busy trying not to look as guilty as he felt, too busy trying not to stare at Angie's cleavage (it's not like he was some animal, it's just that it was so—prominent), too busy wondering what every person in the restaurant thought about incest, to try to impress anyone.

He vaguely wondered why Angie thought she needed to impress him (because surely she was, no matter how casual she tried to make her voice, no matter how self-deprecating her humor). Was she trying to convince him that she wasn't just some slut, that she was worth more attention than a barroom fuck? He found that ironic, because certainly then he should be the one doing the convincing: _I may have practically demanded to stick it in your butt on a first-time fuck, but really, I don't only think with the other head!_ Or, if she knew the whole truth: _I may be fucking my brother, but really, give me a chance, I can be a nice heterosexual boyfriend too!_

The whole thing was too fucked up.

And perhaps worst of all, was that some part of him did sort of like Angie. She had all the pluck, self-assurance, and outright courage that Ludwig lacked. The courage to look him in the face, to ask him out, to guide and keep afloat their conversation throughout this dinner. The most talking he'd done was when he'd explained what he'd met with Professor Kirkland about, and what he was thinking of writing his term paper on. She'd listened with genuine interest and provided a few insightful comments of her own.

Ludwig realized then, that as much as he'd like to let himself fester in his own contempt for the situation, for all the accompanying expectations, for himself, and for Angie and her low-cut shirt and easy smile, he couldn't. After all, how could he hold her in contempt for their bathroom hookup without being even more of a hypocrite than he already was? How could he hold her in contempt for having the bravery to try to make tonight work, even if it involved putting on a false front to disguise all the awkwardness and uncertainty? And she was smart. He realized they'd been talking about _Don Quixote_ for ten minutes, and for the first time that night he didn't feel embarrassed. Maybe he was a nerd, but at least he wasn't the only nerd in the room. Maybe, just maybe, this was someone he could actually talk to. She seemed like she would listen.

And so, once they'd paid and put on their coats and walked a couple blocks towards campus under the shelter of their umbrellas, discussing their favorite films, when Angie asked if he wanted to come to her room to watch _The Apartment_ on her laptop, he said yes, more confused than ever about what was really going on between them.

…

Throughout the film, Ludwig was hyper-aware of the way Angie's leg pressed casually against his as they sat side by side on her bed. It would almost be impractical to avoid contact, though, squeezed onto the narrow double and both trying to get at a good angle to see the small laptop screen. But she seemed so casual, so nonchalant and even natural doing it, pressing her thigh lightly against his knee, that eventually Ludwig relaxed into the position. There was something almost comforting, anchoring about that touch, as if it was to say, "we don't have to be afraid of each other."

And as the screen cast its pale glow over their faces, throwing elongated, shifting shadows against the walls in Angie's darkened room, Ludwig allowed himself to think, just for a moment, that maybe they wasn't so different from any other couple curled up in a warm bed enjoying a movie together.

The credits had just started to roll when Ludwig felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw a text from Feliciano:

_Hey u coming to the party? They have lots of booze! :D_

Angie raised her eyebrows at his phone in question. "What's that?"

"Oh, just my roommate, sorry. Just a moment."

He was about to text back "what party?" when he remembered Feliciano had mentioned that Herakles knew about a party at so-and-so's place, and had asked Ludwig if he'd be interesting in going, with a hopeful note in his voice.

He thought for a moment. He knew that now was probably the moment that would decide where he and Angie really stood. She had a single, and he knew what that meant—did he leave now, or would Angie ask him to stay, spend the night? A critical moment.

If he stayed, then he wouldn't be joining Feliciano. But even if he left now, he wasn't sure he felt like getting dragged into a drunken shit-show. He didn't think he even knew who was hosting the party. And he had to be good for tomorrow.

God, tomorrow. Tomorrow Gilbert was insisting he come bowling with him and Matthew and Alfred. He had mentioned something about "brotherly bonding," at which Ludwig had merely snorted, though the whole idea made him feel more nervous than anything. Still, if he had a chance to prove to Gilbert that this could work out, that he could still be his brother, that he could accept and be friendly with Matt, then he would take it. After all, who knew how long Gilbert and Matthew might be together, and if Ludwig couldn't handle being around his brother's boyfriend, it would just make life more difficult for Gilbert. And that was the last thing he wanted.

Ludwig sighed and tapped out a quick response:

_Sorry, at Angie's, can't make it tonight._

He tucked his phone back into his pocket.

"So," Angie started, glancing at him with a shy smile, "good movie, huh? I love Shirley Maclaine."

"Yes, I liked it," Ludwig answered quickly, because he did, but couldn't think of anything else to add.

There was a momentary awkward pause, in which Ludwig did everything within his power to appear casual and at ease, leaning back on his hands.

Angie glanced at him. "Do you… need to get back, to your place? Or, um, you wanna stay…?"

He met her gaze for a brief moment before looking back down at the duvet. "Oh, uh, no, I don't have to get back really, um, I can stay. If you want." He glanced back at her.

She smiled a little and the knot in his chest eased just slightly. "Good." A thoughtful look crossed her face. "So… I'll just cut to the chase, I guess." Ludwig noticed she was blushing slightly as she seemed to brace herself. "Um, how do you feel about sex?"

Ludwig blinked, suddenly sure he was blushing harder than Angie. His mind was completely blank, so he was glad when Angie charged ahead, blurting out, "It's just, you know, I thought we should be on the same page, because, um, I can understand if you feel like there's no reason to wait, but, I mean if you want to wait, since we're, kind of dating, now, uh, that's fine too."

It took Ludwig a moment to find his voice. "Uh, well…" He looked at her large brown eyes, staring at him hesitantly. "What do you want?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Me? Uh…" She considered for a moment. "Well… I guess, I don't know… um, I guess I would rather… wait. Just because, you know, if we're really going to give this a try… I mean, I guess, it's just, I don't think things tend to end well when a relationship's just based on sex, you know? And I feel like if we're doing that from the start it might become that, you know?"

Ludwig nodded. It made good sense to him, and perhaps he even felt slightly relieved. "Okay. Sounds good to me."

Angie gave him a warm smile and leaned in. Suddenly Ludwig was all too aware of how in his space she was.

"But, I wouldn't be adverse to kissing," she said with a grin.

Ludwig's face was burning, his pulse loud in his ears, and part of him felt like springing off of the bed, but instead he leaned towards her and met her lips with his own.

It was quite pleasant, kissing Angie, he realized after a few moments of numbness. Her lips were warm and soft and gentle, and she'd brought up a warm, soft, gentle hand to rub at the side of his neck and through his hair. It was like giving in to a massage, letting his muscles unknot, letting himself be lulled further and further into the kiss, floating on its liquid heat, until Angie pulled away, a flush and a smile on her face.

"I like the way you kiss," she said coyly, and something about the bright, happy spark in her eye made Ludwig want to lean in and do it again. It wasn't exactly a lustful feeling, just a desire to make that spark grow and spread, to hear her musical laugh, to feed the slight giddiness in his stomach.

He swallowed. "Really?" he asked, and he was surprised by how breathless his own voice sounded.

Angie laughed, and Ludwig felt the butterflies fluttering more wildly in his stomach. He couldn't help a silly grin spreading over his own features.

"Yeah, I do." Angie gave him another quick peck on the lips—soft, moist—and shuffled off the bed to put her computer away and get her PJs.

Ludwig stripped to his boxers, and he felt that this was some sort of rite of passage, exposing himself like this, a girl changing in front of him, as they got ready to slip into bed together. It felt like something adult, something from movies, a couple simply getting ready for bed.

Of course, he'd done this with Gilbert before, but that was different. That was brothers sharing a bed, and they'd done it many times before it turned into the signifier of a sexual connection.

Angie turned out the lights and they crawled under the covers. Unlike when he was in Gilbert's bed, Ludwig lay closest to the wall, and Angie settled herself against him. She fit nicely into his arms, and he found himself sliding a hand over her soft waist to hold her against him in a spoon position.

"Night," she mumbled, sleepy, content.

"Good night," he said softly against her hair. He had to shift his head a little so it didn't tickle his face too much. But it was soft and smelled spicily, sharply clean, so he didn't mind too much.

It struck Ludwig how very different it felt to hold a girl in his arms from holding his brother. Gilbert was larger, bony, hard, all solid planes pressing against his broad chest, flat stomach, thighs, shins. He always ended up feeling a little more tangled up with his brother's long, lithe limbs when they shared a bed, but Angie seemed to sleep neatly tucked in on herself.

But that was a very neutral thing, he thought as he started to drift off to the steady rise and fall of Angie's side under his arm. Different. Different wasn't better or worse, it was just something else to catalogue away in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part: the brothers go bowling.


	5. Chapter 4, Part 2

The bowling alley smelled like fast food, gasoline, and dirty socks. Ludwig tried not to think about how much foot sweat had permeated the leather of his rented bowling shoes as he laced them snugly up. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep from pulling out the bottle of hand sanitizer he kept on him at all times whenever he touched a surface. They were all inevitably greasy: walls, benches, counters, the lot.

Gilbert noticed his grimace as he rubbed his grimy fingers together. "C'mon princess, it's a bowling alley. It's _supposed_ to be dirty. Now let's go show 'em who's boss."

Ludwig glared half-heartedly at his brother, though part of him was actually happy to know that Gilbert could still tease him. Just like always.

He got up and followed him to lane eight, where Alfred and Matthew sat waiting. It had been decided (unilaterally by Alfred) that they would compete brothers against brothers: Williams-Jones versus Beilschmidts.

"Alright, Mattie and I already entered our team name," announced Alfred proudly. "We're 'the Heroes!'" He pointed up to the screen above their lane, which read PLAYER 1: THE HEROES.

Matt sank down in his seat, muttering something that sounded like "don't look at me."

"And you guys are?" questioned Alfred, though he made it sound more like a challenge.

"'Team Awesome,'" Gilbert shot back with a smirk. Ludwig rolled his eyes.

"We'll see about that," taunted Alfred as he entered the name into the computer.

Gilbert slid into the chair next to his boyfriend. Ludwig was very conscious of, and perhaps just slightly disappointed by the fact that this forced him to sit across the table from Gilbert.

"I'm sorry to say it my sweet Matthew—" Gilbert paused for dramatic effect— "but you are going down," he finished with a grin and a playful poke to his boyfriend's ribs.

Matthew simply slapped his hand away and blushed deeply, though Ludwig had a feeling that had more to do with Gilbert's teasing endearment than his claim of superiority. Ludwig had thought it would be fun to compete alongside his brother, but suddenly he found himself wishing he were in Matt's place. He dropped his eyes to his clasped hands in his lap and told himself he was being ridiculous.

"Okay! I'll go first!" Alfred practically shouted as he easily picked up a 15-pounder from the ball return. He lifted it up and behind his head, stretching his arms as he squinted down the lane in concentration.

He found his position well behind the foul line, lined up his throw, approached and let loose with a powerful swing of his arm.

"C'mon strike baby strike baby c'mon C'MON—YE— _Noo!_ " Alfred groaned as the ball left two pins wobbling in its wake. "Oh c'mon, I lined that up perfectly!"

"You always throw too hard," grumbled Matthew. Alfred seemed not to hear as he picked another ball from the return.

He threw again, face screwed into a determined look, and the two pins clattered down.

"YES! SPARE! OH YEAH, WHO'S A HERO!"

Ludwig raised his eyebrows at Alfred's victory dance, which was drawing the unwanted attention of several other patrons—some sour looking high schoolers and a group of beer-bellied middle-aged men.

Gilbert nodded his head. "Not bad. But let me show you how a real pro does it." He swaggered over to pick his ball from the rack and swung it in his hand a few times.

Ludwig watched his brother carefully as he prepared for his throw, walking to the foul line to glance down at the dots that corresponded to the positioning of the pins at the end of the lane.

Ludwig hadn't been bowling with Gilbert for a long while; it really wasn't his favorite pastime. But he remembered this part, Gilbert's careful method, developed over years of occasional bowling outings with his friends in high school and college.

Gilbert couldn't see the pins very well, but he'd learned how to use the dots for reference quite effectively. His motions were precise, confident, as he found his starting position, and Ludwig thought there was something truly beautiful about his brother's quiet concentration. He never thought he would use the word "graceful" to describe the sport of bowling, but that was exactly how Gilbert looked to him as he stepped forward and released all in one fluid motion.

Ludwig was so preoccupied staring at his brother's form, frozen at the point of release like some Greek statue of an athlete, that he forgot to watch the ball rolling down the lane. He heard the telltale clatter, Gilbert's shout of joy, and Alfred's groan, and when he finally tore his eyes from his brother's ecstatic face to glance down the lane, all ten pins had disappeared from sight. His chest swelled with warm, unabashed pride, and even though he was sitting quietly as Gilbert was fist-pumping, he couldn't help thinking he was the one letting a strike in a casual bowling game affect his emotions a bit too much.

"The Dude abides!" exclaimed Gilbert as he sat back down next to his boyfriend, beaming.

Matthew gave him a puzzled look.

"Oh c'mon Mattie, don't tell me you've never seen _The Big Lebowski_."

"Sorry, nope." Matt shrugged as he got up to take a turn for his team.

"Damn, we're gonna have to fix that fast! Great movie."

"What's 'the Dude abides'?" asked Ludwig.

Gilbert glanced at him, then away as he played around with his chair—the type that could rotate side to side, but rather annoyingly not a full 360 degrees. "Oh, just a line—you wouldn't get it, I guess. It has a lot of bowling in it though, so."

He turned his chair back round to the table to watch his boyfriend take his first throw.

"Remember Mattie," Alfred was saying, "we get to count your score twice 'cause of my spare, so make it good!"

Gilbert glanced back at Ludwig, who hadn't taken his eyes off his brother. "You're staring, Lud."

Ludwig's stomach squirmed for just a moment, but he clenched it down and turned nonchalantly to watch Matthew knock down the three pins furthest to the right.

After a few moments he glanced back at Gilbert and met his red eyes looking straight back. He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not the only one," he said quietly.

Gilbert held his gaze for just a moment longer, then got up wordlessly and went to help Matt with his throwing form. Ludwig watched Gilbert's thin white hands closing over Matthew's shoulder and his grip on the ball, and wondered if Gilbert would do the same for him.

Matt left only one pin standing after his second throw, and Ludwig was up. Gilbert clapped his shoulder casually as he picked out his bowling ball.

"C'mon bro, do me proud!"

Ludwig half-smiled and lined up his throw. He only knocked down six with his first try, and Gilbert came over to give him a few tips on his footwork. Ludwig noted that he didn't touch him, like he had Matt.

He took out the rest of the pins with his next throw.

"Yeah! Go Lud! That's my Brüderlein," Gilbert said with a grin and a high five, and immediately Ludwig felt that everything might be alright after all.

But this was going to get exhausting quickly. He really had to stop letting Gilbert's every tiny action have such influence over him. _Stop reading into everything. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, etc._

But it was difficult not to read into things. It was difficult when Gilbert sat with his arm around his boyfriend's shoulder nudging and pinching him teasingly almost every spare moment. Ludwig really had to wonder if his brother was playing it up. And why? For Ludwig's benefit?

It was difficult when Gilbert seemed to hardly look at him, and only speak to him in the most off-hand, strictly bro-ish way. Ludwig didn't catch him staring at him again, and he tried his best to not-stare back. He tried his best to tell himself that this was normal, this was simply entirely normal, this was how brothers acted, and it made sense Gilbert should pay attention to his boyfriend. It made sense to tease and touch his boyfriend more than his brother. And it was okay like that.

Ludwig tried talking to Matt, between their turns, and was almost disappointed to find nothing to contradict his conviction that he was simply a great, lovely person with a self-deprecating sense of humor. The kind of person who would probably be so good for Gilbert. Not a single ill-intentioned bone in his body.

As he watched his brother come up behind Matthew and wrap his arms around his waste in an affectionate gesture, made for no particular reason other than that he felt like it, Ludwig felt truly torn. Like two halves of a picture, or a puzzle, that no matter how he lined them up just wouldn't quite fit together, like they were never meant to be parts of the same whole. Gilbert's happiness made him happy. Gilbert's smile made him smile. And yet he couldn't deny the empty ache, deep below all the layers of well-socialized, selfless warmth and brotherly affection. And he was left not knowing what was true; his happiness for his brother's happiness or the tight pain of knowing it wasn't him who'd caused it.

Gilbert was laughing, and squeezing Matthew, who was blushing but smiling, and Alfred seemed to be grinning along as he turned away to make his throw, and Ludwig sat there like a damp paper towel, ready to tear if he tried to move.

Behind him he could hear voices; young, obnoxiously loud and reckless voices that filled up the space as if it was theirs to own. The teenagers from several lanes down were moving towards the arcade. Their joking all blended in with the background noise of conversation and the electric hum of lights and equipment, until Ludwig very clearly heard the words "so fucking gay" jump out.

They were clearly in reference to Gilbert and Matt, though not exactly directed towards them. Ludwig could tell immediately that they had both heard, because the smiles slipped off their faces, and Gilbert let go of Matthew, the look on his face somewhere between uncomfortable and ticked off.

Ludwig assumed they were going to let it go, though; the group of high schoolers had already passed them, and much as he hated that they'd stolen that smile from Gilbert's face, that made his eyes crinkle up and his mouth open with an unbridled laugh, sometimes it just seemed like a bit too much work to call out every homophobic moron.

But Alfred had other ideas.

"Hey you! Kid!"

All eyes turned to Alfred. Matt, Gilbert, Ludwig, and the high schoolers were all equally surprised and wary of the bowling ball Alfred still held in throw-ready position.

"You talkin' to me? I'm not a kid," sneered the guy who seemed to be the leader of the group.

"Yeah, I'm talking to you, you kid. You said something I don't like."

The teen snorted and started to turn away.

"Hey, I'm not done, you little punk!"

The guy turned back to look at Alfred, and the combination of surprise and annoyance on his face was almost comical. Clearly he wasn't used to being addressed in such a way.

"I believe you called my brother and his boyfriend 'fucking gay.' Now evidently they are in a homosexual relationship, but there's nothing wrong with that, and 'gay' is not an insult. So why don't you grow up a little and keep that in mind for next time they let you out in public."

The boy's mouth was hanging stupidly open, and he was clearly trying and failing to think of some sort of comeback. Instead his eyes fell on Gilbert. He scoffed. "What's up with you, you trying to look like an albino or something?"

Gilbert's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "I am an albino, genius."

Ludwig wished he could somehow capture and forever preserve the satisfied smirk that worked its way across his brother's lips as the teen made a disgruntled face and shuffled off muttering with his friends.

"…Thanks, Al," said Matt, more than a hint of surprise and appreciation in his voice.

"No prob. What are brothers for, huh?" He gave Matthew a playful punch in the shoulder that was probably supposed to be lighter than it looked; Matt grimaced a little and rubbed his shoulder as his brother turned away to finish his turn.

Ludwig watched the interaction with something akin to fascination, like he was observing a foreign culture or even species. That was how brothers interacted. _What are brothers for?_ A teasing punch in the shoulder. Gilbert had given him countless of those in the past.

And yet… he couldn't relate. He could hardly have felt more disconnected from what should have seemed so familiar. The _brotherliness_ of it. He didn't know what that meant anymore.

"Earth to Lud?"

Ludwig's head shot up and he saw his brother, examining him with a skeptical expression. Ludwig realized he must have been staring a bit too hard at the Williams-Jones brothers.

"What?" he asked defensively. Then, as an afterthought, added, "You okay?" feeling slightly guilty that he hadn't been the one to stand up for his brother.

Gilbert sighed and rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly. "Yeah, fine. Nothing."

They heard the clatter of pins and Alfred's groan. He'd left three standing. Gilbert went off to take his turn.

When Gilbert had finished, leaving two pins standing this time, Alfred hefted a ball from the rack and turned to Matthew.

"Here bro, try the 14-pounder, you can handle more than 12!" With that he tossed the bowling ball over a few feet to where Matthew was standing.

He caught it against his stomach with a surprised "Oomff!" and doubled over, winded. A moment later he'd found his breath, though, and was weakly telling his brother off, "You're not supposed to _throw_ these things, Al!"

Alfred just laughed it off. Gilbert was at his boyfriend's side immediately, though, making sure he was okay. The sympathetic look he gave him did not escape Ludwig's notice, and he suddenly wondered what Gilbert thought of Al and Matt's relationship. Did he think Alfred, despite his sometimes careless treatment of Matthew, was a better brother than Ludwig? Was he jealous of Matt and his relationship with his brother? Maybe a too careless relationship was better than a too caring one, if Ludwig and Gilbert's relationship could even be called that.

Ludwig knew he was moping, and he knew Gilbert could probably tell. He didn't want the others to catch on, and he didn't want to dampen the generally light and carefree mood. But he couldn't help it, watching Gilbert with Matthew, and Matthew with Alfred, and feeling so very distant from it all, so very out of place.

He wasn't a boyfriend. And he could hardly call himself a brother.

Maybe he just needed a moment to collect himself. He would just go to the bathroom, and pull himself together. He needed to, if he wanted to convince his brother he could accept Matthew as his boyfriend, that he could interact with them normally and not ruin everything.

He excused himself after his next turn and went into the men's room on the other side of the alley. He splashed his face off, taking deep breaths and telling himself _everything is fine, everything is fine, just relax and enjoy yourself, this is normal, this is just fine._

Ludwig decided he might as well relieve himself while he was there, and went to stand at one of the urinals. He heard the door to the restroom swing open behind him, and someone came to use the urinal next to him.

He felt slightly uncomfortable, as he always did when someone broke the unspoken urinal rule—don't pee directly next to someone else if there are multiple urinals open. He gave a sidelong glance at his neighbor and immediately did a double-take, realizing that it was none other than Gilbert. An entirely different sort of nervousness filled his stomach even as his original discomfort subsided.

Gilbert glanced over at him and smirked. "Man, I gotta pee like a racehorse."

Ludwig snorted. "Thanks for sharing." He finished, shook himself off, did up his pants, and went to the sink, keeping a surreptitious eye on his brother in the mirror.

He washed his hands, noting that from the sound of it, Gilbert had hardly been exaggerating with his racehorse comment. He grabbed a few paper towels, and Gilbert, apparently finished with his business, came over to clap his brother on the shoulders.

"Don't tell me you still wash your hands after peeing. Clean freak."

"It's sanitary," Ludwig defended.

"My dick is plenty sanitary enough, thanks."

Ludwig rolled his eyes and started to turn for the door, until Gilbert added, "You should know."

Ludwig glanced back at his brother, face heating and heart racing. Had he heard that right? But Gilbert's face was unreadable.

Ludwig didn't know how to react. It was stupid, really, to get so flustered at such an insignificant comment. But he had thought they weren't supposed to mention that, not in the open, not in a public place, even if they were alone in the bathroom. Just when he'd thought he might be able to get a grip on himself, Gilbert had to go and throw everything off balance again.

Gilbert watched his little brother's cheeks redden. He could almost see Ludwig's mind racing as his blue, blue eyes flicked back and forth between Gilberts', left, right, left.

He felt cruel. He felt perverted, doing that to his brother, but the comment had slipped out before he could stop it. He wasn't even entirely sure where it had come from, what had spurred him to say it.

But maybe it was because he knew how Ludwig would react. Knew how he would look at him, slightly lost and floundering. Looking to Gilbert for an answer with wide innocent eyes, just like so many times when they were little. And Gilbert could give any answer he wanted, and Ludwig would go along.

He tried to ignore the implications of that, pushed away the warning voice in his head. He didn't want to be cautious; he wanted Ludwig, Ludwig's unconditional, unquestioning adoration.

Gilbert took a step forward, grabbed his brother's face, and smashed their lips roughly together.

Ludwig's muffled exclamation quickly turned to a low groan as Gilbert's tongue filled his mouth. His hands hung uselessly suspended in midair, too shocked to try to do anything with them. At the same time as his mind was screaming _no no no we're in a bathroom idiot anyone could walk in not here damn you_ his gut was finding the possibility of discovery, the daring of it, disturbingly titillating, and Gilbert's warm lips and wicked tongue soon made his mind too fuzzy to form a coherent protest.

But then Gilbert's mouth was gone, just as suddenly as it had met his, and before Ludwig could shake off the pleasant haze his brother was out the door, wiping a sleeve over his mouth.

Ludwig stood, dumbstruck, blinking at his reflection in the mirror. His limbs and belly were still tingling warmly, and his lips buzzed with the sensation, the taste of _Gilbert_.

He took a deep breath, and then another, because he didn't quite trust his lungs to be functioning properly yet. He wasn't sure if he should be happy his brother had kissed him, or angry at his stupid recklessness. He decided the latter part didn't matter, or at least not at the moment; if he wanted to call Gilbert out on it he could do so later. Right now he had to go join back in with others and try his best not to act like he was on another planet. But it was with a satisfied, secretive warmth in the pit of his stomach that he made his way back to lane eight.

He leaned against the table, carefully avoiding Matt's and Alfred's eyes. Their attention happily wasn't on him, anyway; they were watching Gilbert ready his throw.

Gilbert knocked down over half the pins his first throw, and Ludwig wondered vaguely how his brother had enough concentration not to throw a gutter-ball after what had just transpired.

Gilbert picked up his next ball and went back to his starting point, squinting down the lane. He paused for a moment, then called softly, "Hey, Lud," with a casual jerk of his head. No eye-contact.

Ludwig was immediately at his brother's side. "Yes?"

Gilbert jerked his head for him to come closer, still not looking at him. Ludwig leaned in, trying to convince himself the sweat on his palms had nothing to do with anything but the building's over-active heating unit.

"Which pins are still up? I can't tell if that's the… four? Or the eight?" he muttered under his breath.

Ludwig glanced towards the end of the lane. "You've still got… looks like the two, the four, the seven, and the eight's shifted over some." He spoke quietly, intimately, into his ear, so others wouldn't hear; Ludwig knew Gilbert didn't like when other people could tell he was having difficulty with something due to his poor vision. He took it as a point of pride that his brother trusted him enough to occasionally concede that he needed help, and that he'd asked him rather than his boyfriend.

He felt privileged, sharing this small secret between them. And just to see what his brother would do, Ludwig rested his hand lightly against the small of his back as he finished speaking. He wondered if the others noticed, if they thought it at all strange. But why should it be strange for him to touch his brother? If his hand were a few inches lower, then perhaps that would be strange. But this—this was innocent, just a light touch, a gesture of support, of fondness.

Gilbert didn't pull away. He merely kept his eyes on the pins, trying to discern their distant outlines. He nodded slowly. "'Kay, thanks."

"Sure." Ludwig let his hand drop and backed off a few paces to watch Gilbert make his last throw.

The remaining pins clattered out of sight.

"Alright! Spare! Lud, you're the last throw for Team Awesome—make it count!" Gilbert slapped his shoulder, and the brotherliness of it almost convinced Ludwig that he had imagined the entire episode in the bathroom. He managed a weak grin.

Matthew was up next to finish for The Heroes, and managed to knock out nine.

"Ok, Lud, they're up by 15—your first throw's double so make it good!"

Ludwig sighed. His brother had always been so competitive. Yet, he had to admit, he really didn't want to let Gilbert down. He felt what he remembered feeling so many times as a child, playing with his older brother, whether it was kickball, rough housing, legos, or computer games; a burning desire to appear competent, worthy of praise, in the eyes of his brother.

He hefted a ball into his hand and found his mark.

"Yeah, no pressure Lud!" called Alfred.

"Al, be nice," reprimanded Matthew.

"Just kidding, just kidding."

"You can do it," assured Gilbert, right behind him. "Just try not to throw another gutterball."

Ludwig let out a huff of air. "Gilbert, you're not helping." It was true he'd thrown two gutterballs that game; he'd also gotten a spare once, but that was just dumb luck. Bowling really wasn't his sport.

He took a deep breath, got into ready position, wound up his throw, and released.

His eyes tracked the ball as it rolled down the center of the lane, started to curve right, right, right, too damn far right—and hit two pins down.

Ludwig sighed and went to the ball return.

"Not bad, not bad," Gilbert said, but Ludwig could hear the wince in his voice. "Just, do a little better this time. Remember what I told you about your feet."

Ludwig resumed his position with a new ball in hand. He eyed the eight remaining pins. He needed to throw a spare to have any chance of winning now. Last time he'd managed to do that, there had only been four pins remaining for his second throw.

He lifted the ball in front of him, lining it up with where he wanted it to strike, breathed out, and began to move. He remembered at the last moment to follow Gilbert's advice— _cross with your back foot_ —and let loose.

The ball sped down the center of the lane, curving left just at the very end to plough into the sweet spot, sending pins spinning and clattering in every direction. He heard Gilbert's exclamation of excitement, and was sure he had it, until he noticed one of the pins wasn't quite down.

He held his breath as he watched it spin, round and round on its edges, slowing down now, slower, almost suspended in midair, right on its center of balance—and then toppled over, rolling out of sight.

"YES! Lud, you did it!"

He felt Gilbert's arm around his shoulders and a genuine warmth swelled through his belly and chest. He was smiling.

"Okay, you get one more throw since it was a spare—you just need to hit three to tie, four to win!"

Ludwig was glowing as his brother gave him a hearty pat on the back and handed him another ball. He felt confident this time, lining up his throw, stepping forward with ease, crossing with his back foot, releasing with just the right twist of the wrist—and seven pins clattered down.

"WHOO! YEAH! TEAM AWESOME FOR THE WIN!" Gilbert was hollering, practically jumping on Ludwig from behind and trying to give him a noogie, from which Ludwig skillfully twisted away, opting for a one-armed hug instead. He thought Gilbert might be overreacting slightly, but he found himself laughing along anyway.

Gilbert squeezed him hard and held up a hand for a high-five. "Who has the best little brother?" Ludwig returned the high-five with a smile.

"Oh, I dunno about that, Mattie here's not so bad!" Alfred grinned and clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder.

Matt rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he said, "I hardly count as your little brother. You were only born 12 seconds ahead of me."

"Yup. And I'm never gonna let you forget it."

Matthew snorted and shoved his brother playfully as Al cackled in good humor.

"Say, I'm starvin'. How 'bout we get something to eat?" Alfred managed when he'd caught his breath.

They headed over to the small eating area, and Ludwig tried not to grin himself silly at the fact that Gilbert kept his hand on his shoulder. In that moment, he was sure everything could really be alright. If Gilbert could still call him the best little brother, hug him and high-five him, if they could still laugh together and triumph together. It was so uncomplicated, just like normal brothers. He didn't even mind when Gilbert released him to sit next to Matthew at the little greasy table they chose.

They all ordered pizza slices, which seemed the most edible thing there, except Alfred, who got two burgers.

Matthew eyed his brother's choice of food skeptically.

"Don't underestimate the bowling alley burger," shot Alfred, seeing Matt's expression. "The greasier, the better."

Matthew made a face. "Whatever."

Alfred happily chowed down, while Ludwig tried to discreetly pat some of the grease off his pizza with a napkin. Gilbert snorted at him, but didn't comment.

Ludwig was happy to see his brother digging into his slice, though—he still thought Gilbert looked thinner than he had before his stint in the hospital.

As if on cue, he noticed his brother's metallic medical bracelet catch the light, glaring at him. He wondered suddenly how often Gilbert remembered he was wearing it, how much he must hate it. How often he wondered how his body was conspiring against him, how long he would live.

Suddenly Ludwig didn't feel so hungry anymore. Maybe he could understand, reluctantly, why his brother refused to eat sometimes.

Between bites of burger, Alfred was enthusiastically explaining something he'd learned about carbon emissions in his environmental sustainability class—Ludwig had missed how they'd gotten onto that topic—when he felt something press lightly against his foot. Ludwig glanced up, wondering if someone thought his foot was part of the table, and decided to pull his foot away before it got too awkward.

But a moment later he felt it again. His face heated. It could only be Gilbert—he was sitting directly across from him. And then, sure enough, his brother glanced over at him, the corners of his lips rising imperceptibly, knowingly.

A shiver ran down Ludwig's spine.

He found suddenly that there was too much saliva in his mouth, and swallowed as the foot—Gilbert's foot—inched its way upward to rub along his calf.

Ludwig's mind was reeling once more. What was going on with Gilbert today? One minute innocently bro-ish, the next covertly seductive. It made Ludwig's insides writhe with want, and the foot working its way up to the sensitive back of his knee was like a brand, shooting fire through his every tender nerve—

Ludwig couldn't take it. He turned aside, tugging away his leg, and covered his hasty motion with a faked cough. Matthew and Alfred didn't even spare him a glance. But Gilbert's eyes lingered on him in an unreadable expression as he turned back to the table to attempt another bite at his pizza.

Gilbert didn't try anything after that, and while Ludwig was relieved, he also missed the feel of some part of Gilbert's body pressed to his. He wished he could just lean over and touch his brother…

"Hey, are you gonna finish that?"

Ludwig looked up and blinked at Alfred, who was eyeing the half-eaten pizza on his plate.

"Oh, uh… no."

"Sweet, don't mind if I help you out then." It wasn't a question; Alfred reached over and grabbed the slice, biting in with relish.

"Al, you've had two burgers already," admonished Matthew.

"So?" questioned Alfred through a mouthful of pizza.

"So you're gonna get fat if you keep eating like this."

Alfred laughed at that. "No way dude, I've got the metabolic rate of a—I dunno, something with a really fast metabolic rate."

Matt rolled his eyes. "That's not what the love-handles indicate…" he muttered.

Alfred didn't laugh at that. Instead he glared at his brother. "I so do not have love-handles." He shoved another bite of pizza into his mouth defiantly.

Ludwig kept watching his brother covertly through the rest of their meal, trying to get any hint at what he was thinking. The kiss, the foot—was it all just playful teasing, or did Gilbert want something? But his brother's attention seemed reserved solely for Matt.

When they finally finished up and returned their rented shoes, it was clear Matthew would be accompanying Gilbert home.

But still, it was only afternoon. Maybe Ludwig would see Gilbert later. Or tomorrow, if nothing else. He suppressed a sigh.

Gilbert gave him a quick hug and high-five goodbye, congratulating him once more on a game well played.

Matthew and Gilbert headed off towards Gilbert's house, while Alfred and Ludwig went in the direction of campus and Al's apartment.

Alfred caught Ludwig looking back at the pair; Gilbert was walking with his arm around Matt's shoulders.

"Heh, they make a good couple, huh?" said Alfred with a grin.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, yes! They do."

"I can tell you Mattie thinks your brother's the best thing since sliced bread. It's kinda adorable actually."

Ludwig swallowed. "Really?"

"Haha, yeah! Doesn't Gil ever talk to you about his boyfriends?"

"Uh, oh, yeah, I mean, he does. Yeah, he seemed pretty head over heels too," Ludwig added hastily. And Gilbert had; Ludwig remembered when he'd had his first dates with Matt, how happy and excited he'd been.

He clamped down on the slightly nauseous feeling in his stomach.

Alfred smiled. After a minute more he spoke up, "Must be nice being so close to your brother."

Ludwig blinked, alarmed. "What do you mean?" he asked, maybe a little too quickly.

"Oh, just, you guys seem to—I dunno, get along so well. You have this like, great sibling chemistry or something. Me and Matt—I dunno, we fight so much, it's like…" He shrugged. "I mean, people think twins are supposed to be close, but, we're so different."

It was true Ludwig usually had a hard time remembering the brothers were twins. "Well… Gilbert and I are pretty different, too."

"Yeah, but… he's not on your back all the time. Mattie—like the way he calls me fat. I'm not fat," Al said defensively, and Ludwig thought he caught a note of genuine hurt in his voice. "I just like to eat, haha!" Alfred tried to cover it with a laugh.

Ludwig felt he was unexpectedly discovering something about Alfred, a boy he didn't know very well, and he wanted to prove himself a decent guy—Gilbert's nice little brother. But he would be lying if he said some small part of him didn't feel smugly satisfied that Matthew and Alfred's brotherly relationship wasn't exactly ideal.

Not that he didn't want them to be happy—it was no full-blown Schadenfreude. Maybe he just… felt good to have confirmation that everyone was human, that no relationship was perfect. Yes, that was it.

Ludwig hesitated, then said, "I don't know, you seemed to get along pretty well to me. It's not as if Gilbert and I don't have our problems sometimes."

Alfred laughed again. "Yeah, no you're right, of course. I mean, he's my brother, I love him. I just like to complain I guess!"

They reached the corner where their paths diverged and waved goodbye, and Ludwig made his way to his dorm, thinking about brothers, and kisses in bathrooms and playing footsie in public.

...

Matthew glanced around. "Gil, maybe…"

Gilbert looked at his boyfriend. "What?"

"Well, just…" He slipped away from Gilbert's arm slung around his shoulders. "Maybe we should… be more careful."

Gilbert blinked at him. "What do you mean?"

"You know… I mean, first the cupcakes, then today… It's always when you're—I don't know, doing something. It just, calls attention."

Gilbert's worked his jaw before saying, tautly, "What do you mean, I'm not allowed to show my boyfriend some affection when I feel like it? It's a free country."

Matthew sighed. "I know, Gilbert, but I'm just being practical—"

"No, I'm not caving to a couple homophobic douchebags. If a couple rude comments are what it takes to be able to hug you, or hold your hand, or kiss you in public, like any freakin' couple, then I'll take it."

Matthew looked into his boyfriend's fiery eyes, then away. He sighed. "I'm just… I'm not comfortable with it, Gilbert. I… get scared sometimes."

The corner of Gilbert's lips quirked upward. "Aw c'mon Mattie, you got me. Nothing to be scared of."

Matthew huffed. "I'm scared for you too, you idiot."

That brought Gilbert up short.

"You can be so… reckless sometimes." Matthew bit his lip.

 _No. Fuck—just no._ It wasn't supposed to be like this. Matt was supposed to be safe, uncomplicated. He was supposed to be the one he didn't have to keep secret, the one he could laugh with and kiss and do anything he wanted with in public, the one he didn't have to worry about people finding out about.

It was strange—people might think incest would be the 'safe route,' the cop-out from dealing with messy relationship feelings with new people, that it might be kind of boring to fuck a family member, and that falling in love with someone not related to you was the big unknown, the romantic adventure.

But it didn't exactly work out that way. Matthew was safety, Matthew was comfort, Matthew was normality and the warmth of certainty. Matthew was who he wanted to curl up into to forget the complications of life, wrap in his arms and smell his strawberry hair and lavender pajamas and feel that everything was _right_.

Ludwig was terrifying. Ludwig was thrilling and electrifying and filled him with sensations he didn't want to name. Ludwig was magnetic, and shiny and blindingly brilliant and Gilbert was the moth drawn to the flame. And he could feel the insinuating tendrils of addiction to that burn lapping at the edges of his mind.

Ludwig was a mystery, too, the boy he knew better than anyone. He was, already, the furtive nighttime meetings that made Gilbert giddy with adrenaline, the sordidly romantic—or sensual—adventure, the gut-lurching plunge in the dark.

And now Matthew wanted to throw that off. But Gilbert couldn't deal with two socially inacceptable relationships at the same time. If he had to keep a secret as big as Ludwig, there was no room for a secret Matthew. Hell, he was even out to his father now. There was no way he was hiding Matthew in this town, on this campus, where he lived. Hiding meant guilt, and Gilbert had plenty of that to go around as it was.

"I'm not saying we have to keep it secret or anything!" assured Matt, as if reading (partly) his boyfriend's thoughts. "I just mean, maybe save the more affectionate gestures for private moments. You know? I mean plenty of straight couples aren't super-into PDA either."

Gilbert took a deep breath. "I just do what I feel like doing. I'm not ashamed to put my arm around you in public, and I'm not going to make myself hold back if I want to do something like that. I have the right to that much. We can't let them scare us out of that."

Matthew sighed. "I—" He sighed again. "Okay, fine. For now."

Gilbert nodded. "Good." He turned and they continued walking.

"Well, thanks for agreeing to do this, anyway."

"Do what?"

"You know, bowling. The whole brother-outing thing. It was nice to have Ludwig along. I think maybe it sets a good example for Al, makes him a bit easier to handle."

Gilbert had to bit back a nervous laugh. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, just, he was actually alright today. I mean, better than usual. I think maybe he saw how you two interact and knew he had to… I don't know, treat me better than usual, I guess, in front of you."

Gilbert wasn't sure how to respond to that. The fact that Matt felt his brother didn't treat him well was painful, but the fact that he saw Gilbert and Ludwig as role models of brotherly harmony was perhaps worse.

"Oh c'mon, your brother cares about you! Look how he took on those high school dickheads. He wouldn't do that just for show, I'm sure."

"I know, I know he cares about me, but I just… We've always been so different, I feel like—what reason does he have to even like me? I mean, he must think I'm so boring. He doesn't—you know what it is; he doesn't respect me. He never takes me seriously. Ludwig respects you. You're lucky."

Gilbert swallowed. "Nah, I'm sure he respects you. And I'm sure he likes you. Maybe he's just not so good at showing it. And you're not boring."

Matt ignored him. "I mean, you and Ludwig are different, too, though, but you're so close. I don't know how you do it."

"What do you mean?" _So close?_ What did that mean?

"You know, like you were telling me before—if he needs you, you're there. You support each other, you share stuff. Sheesh, you should see the way he looks at you—like, you're his hero. Or like he adores you. It's kind of sweet."

Gilbert was sure he must be sweating. His stomach felt tight. "Really? Huh. Well, we just…" _Just what?_ "I mean, we are close. But it's not like we're perfect." Then he added, "I think you and Al have it better than you think." _Because you don't even know what torture it is to look at your brother and_ want _him, want to feel his strong arms and hard chest and God so soft lips, see him need you, need you more than brothers should ever need each other; love him so much you think your chest will burst._

Matthew gave a wistful half-smile. "Yeah, I guess you're probably right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little explanation, in case any of you have never engaged in the wonderful sport of bowling:
> 
> "strike"-knocking out all 10 pins in one throw.
> 
> "spare"-knocking out all 10 pins in two throws.
> 
> "gutterball"-throwing the ball so it rolls into one of the gutters on either side of the lane, resulting in no pins being hit.
> 
> I definitely never realized how complicated bowling scoring was, either-I hope I didn't mess it up, in case any of you out there are true bowling aficionados! ;) (Oh, and do make sure to go watch "The Big Lebowski" if you haven't-it is one hilarious movie, dude.)
> 
> Next part: Gilbert suggests he and Ludwig try something a little different in bed... plus, a little something many of you have been waiting for!


	6. Chapter 4, Part 3

It was a little after seven when Ludwig's phone vibrated. A text from Gilbert:

_Hey Matt's gone if you want to come over_

Ludwig read it twice, quickly, before tapping out his reply:

_Yeah, be right there._

So maybe Gilbert did want something. Did want _him_. Was that possible? Did his brother want him as much as he wanted his brother? The idea of Gilbert, wanting _him_ , was intoxicating.

Ludwig was grateful Feliciano had gone out for the evening, so he didn't have to give him an explanation; he threw on his jacket and slipped on his boots, and was out the door.

…

Gilbert opened the fridge and grabbed out his carton of milk. It was past the expiration date, but it didn't smell too off, so he poured himself a glass.

He was thinking of Ludwig.

Thinking of his lips in the bathroom, his legs under the table… He sighed, leaning on the refrigerator door. What was he doing?

It was crazy, acting like that. And yet—it had been so, thrilling. And surely Ludwig would be pleased, wouldn't he? Pleased that Gilbert was reciprocating, initiating.

Because, after all, he was doing this for Ludwig. He was only doing what his brother needed him to do.

And then, they had still been able to continue with the game, cheer each other on, act _brotherly_. Maybe it was possible, then, to find some—balance. That was it. These sexual acts, they didn't have to take them so far outside of the realm of brotherliness. They didn't really have to even change them, him and Ludwig—didn't have to change the way they were brothers. Maybe sex could just be… another thing that they did. Something just between the two of them, like so many other inside jokes and secret understandings only siblings could share.

He heard the door open. "Lud, that you?"

"Yeah," came his brother's deep voice. Damn, how did his little brother get the manly voice?

He heard Ludwig's footsteps coming down the hall and turning into the kitchen and looked up. He raised his glass. "Milk?"

"Uh, I'm good thanks," said Ludwig, leaning a bit awkwardly on the counter.

"You sure? Makes ya grow big and strong! And damn is it refreshing." Gilbert took a big gulp and let out a sigh of satisfaction for effect.

"Yes, I'm… sure. Thanks."

Gilbert shrugged and continued to drink, glancing sideways at his brother, who raised his eyebrows expectantly.

It was silent save Gilbert's gulping for a few long seconds. When he was finally finished he set his glass down on the counter with a decisive _clink_.

"So, how was your date with Angie?"

Ludwig blinked; that wasn't what he'd been expecting. Come to think of it, he ought to call Angie tonight. His girlfriend.

"Uh, it was fine. Yeah, good."

"Yeah? Good. How did you guys meet again?"

"In Kirkland's Lit class."

"Oh, right."

"Actually, I met with Professor Kirkland yesterday too."

"…Oh? What for?"

"To talk about the English major, paper topics and stuff."

"Where did you meet?"

"Um, in a café… why?"

Gilbert grunted. "Nothing."

"He mentioned you, actually."

Gilbert looked up sharply at that. "Mentioned me?"

"Yeah, said to say hi to you for him. And that you should stop by some time." Ludwig decided not to mention that they'd discussed Gilbert as Kirkland's student—apparently the subject was rather touchy, though Ludwig couldn't quite fathom why.

Gilbert blinked at him. "Stop by?"

"Yes, well, I think he said 'if he feels like dropping by my door is open.' Or something."

Gilbert's eyebrows rose. "His door is open?"

"Yes…"

Gilbert gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Oh, that's nice."

Ludwig furrowed his brow. "Gilbert, what's wrong with that, he's just trying to be nice, after you..."

"…After I what?" Gilbert challenged.

Ludwig swallowed. He hadn't meant to let on that he knew anything about his conflict with his former teacher. "Well, just, so maybe you had your differences, but that's no reason to cut off a teacher who clearly admired your work—"

"Had our _differences?_ Admired my _work?_ Ludwig, you don't know anything about it, okay?"

Gilbert had approached quite close to Ludwig. The younger brother swallowed. "I—I… Okay," he said simply. He couldn't understand Gilbert's stubbornness on the topic, but he didn't want to push it.

Gilbert's arm snaked around his shoulders. "Good. Now…"

Ludwig's heart started beating wildly in his chest. "Uhhh Gilbert—"

He had decided he wanted to impress upon his brother that he couldn't just go doing things in pubic like he had today, and wanted to make sure he did so before getting too distracted with… other things.

"Y-you know—"

But Gilbert was already leaning his head in, brushing his lips along the racing pulse in Ludwig's neck.

Ludwig shivered and tried again. "Um, Gilbert you really shouldn't—wait." He pushed his brother's shoulder back. "Are you even sure we're alone?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Positive Lud." He smirked. "Don't worry, everything's under control."

He brought his body flush with his brother's, front to front, and let his hands wander up his shoulders to his neck.

Ludwig's skin was hot and prickling, his breathing shallow, and there was the relentless tug of want low in his gut. He wet his lips. "What's—what's with you today?"

"Hm?" Gilbert was nuzzling his jaw now, breath hot against his throat.

Ludwig stood there dumbly, clutching the counter behind him for support as the edge dug into the small of his back. He struggled to collect his thoughts. "You know, the—uh, bowling alley, and…" He couldn't finish as Gilbert's mouth made it's way to his ear and started sucking on the shell.

He groaned lowly at the maddening sensation. "Gilbert…" Then he remembered what he was trying to say. "Anyone—anyone could have seen!"

Gilbert chuckled throatily, and the sound went straight to Ludwig's groin. "Oh c'mon, I was just having a little fun," he murmured.

And then his mouth slid wetly to Ludwig's, and Ludwig's stomach flipped. He sucked in his brother's lips, tongue, eagerly as Gilbert's hands pressed into his arms, back, sliding to his shoulders and hips and they where everywhere and overwhelming and too much and not enough at once.

Ludwig quickly forgot his complaint. But as Gilbert's hands became more daring, rubbing him through his jeans and tugging at his belt, and Ludwig was bent practically backwards over the counter—he blushed at the thought of Gilbert taking him then, there—another rose to mind.

"Gilbert—ngh—Someone, someone could come in…" He glanced worriedly toward the hallway. He could almost see the front door, bent like this.

Gilbert sighed and tugged him upright. "Okay, upstairs."

Ludwig's crotch pulsed with the authoritative tone of his brother's voice. He wasn't sure where this change in Gilbert's demeanor had come from, but he wasn't protesting.

They climbed the stairs, Gilbert's hands never leaving Ludwig's body. Ludwig turned to go to Gilbert's bedroom, but his brother pulled him back and pushed him into the den. The backs of Ludwig's legs hit the arm of the couch, and he tumbled backward onto the cushions. Gilbert was right behind, crawling over him and lifting his shirt to kiss sloppily at his stomach, then work his way up to his chest to tease a pert nipple with his teeth.

Ludwig gasped. "Gilbert!" He was still tense about their exposed position, no door between them and the stairway. "Shouldn't we—hah, go to your room?"

Gilbert's wonderful hands smoothed down his sides to settle at his hips. "Relax, bro. Hey, this way we'll know if anyone comes in." He grinned, then sighed at Ludwig's cross expression. "Look, Vash went home for the weekend, and Liz and Rod went out to dinner and a movie. We're alone." He fixed him with an intense gaze that said, _trust me_.

Slowly, Ludwig relaxed, and Gilbert pulled himself over his brother to find his mouth.

Ludwig reveled in the heat and weight of his brother's body against his own as they kissed. He groaned as Gilbert slipped a hand between them and started to palm him through his jeans again. He gripped Gilbert's back and hips, willing him closer, wanting more friction.

Then suddenly Gilbert was down at his crotch, tugging almost frantically at his belt and yanking his pants and boxers down in one go to pull out Ludwig's hardening cock.

Ludwig made a whimpering noise he would never admit to as Gilbert's warm fingers closed firmly around his shaft and began stroking, sending bolts of sweet pleasure to his gut. He squirmed, trying to get his pants off all the way so he could move his legs.

He managed to tug them off with Gilbert's help, and Gilbert went back to work with his mouth, licking long stripes up his brother's member, then pausing to suck his balls, taking each into his mouth in turn as Ludwig moaned and scrabbled to grip his brother's hair.

Ludwig watched as Gilbert took his erection into his mouth, all the way down. His red eyes seemed to burn as he gazed up at him, and Ludwig stared in awe until he felt the back of his brother's throat and his head fell back in a wave of pleasure as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Gilbert pulled off. "No, look at me," he breathed, breath ghosting over the head of Ludwig's cock and making him shiver. Ludwig complied, blushing.

Gilbert took him back in his mouth and began sucking in earnest, head bobbing up and down and tongue teasing at his slit, humming softly at the taste of pre-come weeping profusely from the tip. He himself was sure there must be a wet spot staining his underwear by now, with his cock straining in the confines of his pants. He was enjoying this much too much.

He loved this view of his brother, mouth helplessly slack, eyes hazy and desperate, a slight frown on that strong brow. He loved the soft, ragged pants that emanated from between his brother's moist, pink lips. He loved the feel of Ludwig's hand, large and warm, cupping the back of his head firmly, but not pushing; Gilbert wished he would apply more pressure, use some of the strength he could just see pulsing through those solid, toned arms.

He could feel Ludwig tensing below him and pulled off, delighting in his brother's stifled groan of disappointment. He didn't want Ludwig to finish just yet. He wanted to keep him on edge as long as possible; delayed gratification was always sweetest.

And Gilbert's own erection badly needed tending to.

"Suck me," he commanded gruffly, kneeling up and fumbling to release his throbbing cock. A wave of adrenaline, thrilling, dangerous, rushed through him as he said it; it was daring, so wrong. But better still was Ludwig's half disbelieving, half transfixed, terribly wide-eyed and innocent looking quick nod in return as he scrambled off the couch to kneel in front of his brother.

Gilbert settled himself down, legs on either side of his brother, so eager, so needy. He could barely breathe as he watched him take hold of his erection and bring his face close, seemingly breathing in the scent and savoring it for a moment, eyes closed, before rubbing his lips over the tip and smearing pre-come on his mouth.

Gilbert's toes curled and he bit down a moan just at the sight.

It was horrible, it was wonderful. His little brother, sucking him off, with that _look_ in his eyes as he gazed up at him—it was so intense Gilbert had to squeeze his eyes shut as he gnashed his teeth in pleasure. What was it? Adoration didn't seem a strong enough word. It was… _worship._

Gilbert grunted at the low tug in his gut. He was panting now, fisting the edge of the couch and trying everything in his might not to grab his brother's head and slam his hips up into that hot, velvet smooth mouth… _God, to fuck Ludwig's mouth, make him choke on me… He would probably let me too…_

Gilbert groaned loudly, half at the mental image, half to snap himself out of it.

_No, don't go there, still your little brother, don't hurt him god your mouth oh god Ludwig—_

"Ah fuck, Lud, gonna—"

Ludwig chose that moment to wriggle his tongue against his slit, working at the sensitive frenulum, and Gilbert shot over the edge.

"HAHH—JESUS—ooohh Luuud…"

Ludwig's mouth flooded with hot, bitter semen and he struggled to swallow it all down, gasping and coughing.

Gilbert sat boneless and breathless, staring at his disheveled brother, a string of white dribbling from the corner of his mouth as he struggled to get a lungful of air.

"You… you 'kay?" Gilbert asked weakly.

Ludwig nodded and wiped his mouth, looking back at his brother with watery eyes. But they still had _that_ expression.

_Oh god I could fuck you so hard, fuck you into this couch and make you scream…_

Gilbert closed his eyes. _Stop. Stop, just, don't._

He felt Ludwig pulling himself up onto the couch next to him, could feel his heat looming close, and then a soft, chaste kiss pressed to his lips.

"Ludwig…" he whispered, bringing a hand up to thread through his brother's silky hair, making more strands fall into his face.

"Mm?" he hummed, and Gilbert could feel the deep vibration through his lips as he traced them along his jaw.

"Want you…" He swallowed. "Want you in me…" he forced out.

Ludwig's lips left his face. Gilbert was afraid to open in eyes, but his brother's silence forced him to.

Ludwig was staring at him, with those too-blue, too-round eyes. He wet his lips and spoke, a low rumble. "Are you… sure?"

Gilbert nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak. He might lose his resolve.

Because in truth, he wanted to fuck his brother badly. A dark little part of him wanted to see Ludwig's face pressed into the faux-leather of the couch, wanted to see just how far he could go, just how long Ludwig would keep looking at him like that, with that look he only seemed to get when he was giving Gilbert pleasure, sucking him off or getting fucked. It wasn't the same look as when Gilbert went down on him—it was still helpless then, still consumed by lust, but it wasn't the same. And Gilbert loved that look, loved seeing it on his brother's face.

But it terrified him. He wasn't sure he wanted to see how far Ludwig would let him go, what he'd let him do to him, because when he saw that look, he wasn't sure Ludwig would ever tell him to stop. And it made him sick, sick with shameful longing.

So maybe, just maybe, it would be better if Ludwig fucked him. He'd still be giving Ludwig what he wanted, what he needed. But maybe it wouldn't feel quite so dangerous, taking the passive role, simply letting Ludwig do what he wanted.

But Gilbert hadn't bottomed for years. Matt was too timid to try to top yet, and he'd usually topped in most of his past relationships. He didn't quite want to admit that it was partially because he had always been nervous about the idea of another guy up his ass. Maybe it was a control thing.

He starting removing his pants before he could take it back.

"Uh—o-okay," stuttered Ludwig, moving to help him.

Ludwig's heart was racing as he first tugged off Gilbert's jeans and socks, then yanked off his own shirt. He couldn't deny this was something he'd fantasized about too, but he'd never dared to think—did Gilbert really want—did his brother really want him to do this? It was almost too good to believe.

But he was nervous, too. The only time he'd "topped," he'd been drunk in a bar bathroom, and with a girl. This was entirely different. Kneeling on the couch, completely naked now, before his equally naked brother in a well-lit, unenclosed room, Ludwig felt much too exposed. Gilbert would be able to see everything… and Ludwig wasn't even sure he knew what to do. How did he make sure he wouldn't hurt his brother?

Gilbert rested a leg on the back of the couch, letting the other hang down to the floor, with Ludwig between.

"Umm…" Ludwig swallowed. "So, are you… clean?" He could feel his face flushing even further.

"Just—yeah, I'm good to go. I uh, made sure earlier." Gilbert averted his eyes. He looked about as comfortable as Ludwig felt.

Ludwig blinked, then realized he didn't want to know what Gilbert had been doing with Matt that would require him to "make sure."

"Uh, okay. So… condom…?"

"Pants pocket."

Ludwig glanced questioningly at his brother.

Gilbert shrugged. "I came prepared," he muttered.

Ludwig fished the condom out of Gilbert's abandoned jeans, disturbingly turned-on by the fact that his brother had stashed a condom in his pocket to have sex with _him_.

"…Want me to grab some lube?"

"Just—hurry up!" Gilbert leaned forward to grasp Ludwig's dick and pump it back to full hardness.

Ludwig rested a hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing as he felt heat pooling again in his gut.

"Gimme that." Gilbert held his hand out for the condom.

Ludwig handed it to him, and Gilbert ripped open the package with his teeth. He carefully rolled the condom up his brother's shaft, then gave a few more pumps for good measure.

Gilbert leaned back. "Okay," he said, bracing himself.

"Well, you want me to uh, prepare you, don't you?"

"Yes! Just—Christ, I'll do it myself—"

"No, I can do it! Sorry." Ludwig flushed. He was doing a miserable job, humiliating himself in front of his brother—

Gilbert sighed. "No, it's okay. Sorry. I just... yeah, go ahead."

"Uh, right." Ludwig spit into his fingers, rubbing his index and middle together to get them coated and slick.

He reached down to find Gilbert's hole, heart fluttering when he felt the ring of muscles clench at his touch. Oh god, it must be so tight…

He pressed lightly, circling the entrance before letting one finger sink inside the incredibly soft heat, just to the first knuckle.

"Oh c'mon Lud, I'm not made of glass," Gilbert gritted out, but Ludwig could tell from the way that he'd been biting his lip that his brother was nervous. Maybe as nervous as he was.

Ludwig began thrusting his finger gently in and out. He could feel his cock stirring in interest, as though the head down there couldn't help but imagine that tightness gripping around it. He swallowed and added another finger, carefully thrusting and scissoring.

He watched Gilbert's face, looking for signs of pain or reassurance, but Gilbert wasn't looking at him. His eyes were squinting off to the side, while the back of one hand covered his mouth.

Ludwig spit down again, pushing the slippery fluid into and around the hole, trying to make sure it was well-lubricated. "Um, do you think—"

"Yeah, just do it."

Ludwig swallowed and held the base of his cock, lining it up with his brother's entrance. His stomach gave a lurch about what he was about to do—fuck his brother—that was mostly excitement, but perhaps a bit of horror and understanding of any hesitation Gilbert had ever shown about fucking Ludwig.

"Wait!"

Ludwig drew back, startled.

Gilbert shuffled to change positions, turning over onto his elbows and knees. "Like this. Should be easier."

"Okay," Ludwig agreed. He was a little disappointed not to see his brother's face, but if Gilbert would be more comfortable like this, he wouldn't complain.

He grasped Gilbert's hips, and for a moment lost the ability to draw breath at the sight of his brother from behind, spread open and waiting for him. He swallowed and pressed the tip of his cock to his entrance.

Ludwig pushed forward with his hips and watched in wonder as his member slowly disappeared inside his brother.

"Hahh-ahh…" winced Gilbert, digging his fingers into the cushions. "Jeeesus, Lud, why'd'ya have to—nnng—be—so—ffucking big?" he gasped.

The words didn't quite penetrate Ludwig's mind though, overloaded as it was with _tight tight god so tight and hot oh my god oh my god_ and suddenly Ludwig wasn't quite sure why he hadn't asked to fuck Gilbert before.

It took every ounce of his concentration and willpower to go slowly, try not to hurt his brother. When he was fully sheathed he shifted a bit, causing Gilbert to wince again, and let himself rest against his brother's back, savoring warm, smooth skin.

"Nn, you—okay?" he grunted out.

"…Yup," Gilbert strained out, but Ludwig could hear the pain in his voice. "Give me a… a sec…"

Ludwig pressed his forehead down between Gilbert's shoulder blades, and wasn't sure if his skin or Gilbert's was burning hotter. He ran his hands down his brother's sides and stomach to grasp his cock, which was dismayingly limp. He started to stroke, hoping it would help Gilbert accommodate his girth. He wanted—he needed—Gilbert to enjoy this, too.

Finally he felt Gilbert let out a long breath and relax just a little.

"M-move…"

Ludwig began to shift his hips back and heard Gilbert hiss through his teeth. He kept stroking Gilbert back to hardness as he thrust in, slowly, so painfully slowly, hot smooth walls clinging around his cock, enveloping him.

He continued like that, gingerly rocking back and forth, insides singing with each hot tug of Gilbert's insides along his shaft. Gilbert was making high-pitched noises in his throat with every thrust, which Ludwig hoped were more from pleasure than pain.

His brother lay his head down on his arms, face to the side, and Ludwig could see tear tracks down Gilbert's cheek.

"Nn—you, sure you're okay?"

Gilbert panted a few times before managing a weak "Yeah," in return.

Eventually Ludwig's movements became easier. Gilbert's cock was stiff again and he seemed more relaxed, mouth hanging lazily open as he frowned slightly.

Ludwig needed more friction badly. This slow thrusting was teasing torture for his erection. He gave his hips and experimental roll, deeper, harder.

Gilbert's face contorted as he groaned.

"You—okay?" panted Ludwig again.

"Ahh—I… Do… do that again…"

Heart racing, Ludwig did it again, and again, milking out Gilbert's musical, breathy moans. His parted lips looked so inviting, so Ludwig ducked down to close his mouth over his brother's, pulling his lips into a sloppy kiss as he continued to rock harder, harder.

Gilbert's hand snaked up behind him to clutch at his hair, fingers practically digging into his scalp. He could feel the vibrations of Gilbert's moans in his mouth, spurring him to snap his hips forward faster.

Gilbert broke away to gasp, head falling forward onto the couch once more. "Ohh, shit… HAHH ooo god Lud, right there, right there oh shit oh shit…" His voice raised in pitch as he mumbled into the cushion, and suddenly Gilbert didn't know what he was saying any more as words came spilling from his mouth.

"Ah, yes, yes, fuck, fuck me—" His hand reached back to grip Ludwig's thigh, trying to pull him closer, deeper.

Ludwig groaned, hands going to Gilbert's hips for better leverage as he increased his pace.

"Fuck! Oh god, oh god yes don't stop god Luuud… fuck me, fuck me hard…" The string of words came like a muttered incantation as Gilbert closed his eyes. "God fuck me, harder, fuck my ass—"

High on lust and pleasure, Gilbert felt bold and daring. He twisted his shoulders so he could reach back and hook one arm around Ludwig's neck, pulling his face towards his.

"You like fucking me, huh?" he whispered heatedly to the humid air between them. "You like fucking your big brother?"

Ludwig brows contracted helplessly as his eyes fell closed.

"You like fucking my tight little ass? Oh fuck, Lud, keep fucking me, keep fucking your big brother in the ass…"

He wasn't filtering any of the words that came in a confused jumble to his mind. Part of him knew how embarrassing what he was saying was, how disgusting, but that only made the thrill of saying it all the better.

Gilbert brought their faces closer still, so their lips were practically touching. His gut was taught with burning pleasure as he gritted through his teeth, "Oh yeah, you like that, huh? You like my ass, little brother, Brüderchen, huh? Fuck me, oh yes fuck me Brüderlein, Brüderchen, _Luddy—_ "

It was hearing those names, his name, the names only Gilbert called him, that nearly sent him over the edge. With an animalistic growl Ludwig wrapped his arms around his brother's torso and slammed into him as hard as he could, reducing Gilbert to high pitched gasps as tears streamed down his face.

And almost before he knew it, he was talking too. "You like that? That what you want, big _brother_? You like getting fucked by your little brother, huh? Like my cock up your ass?" he growled into Gilbert's ear. He didn't even know where the words came from; it was almost as if someone else were speaking through him.

Gilbert was practically crying now. "AH! YES, oh god yes I love it," he sobbed out. "I love your big fat cockinmyass oh shit Lud gonnacomegonnacome DON'T STOP—"

"Come with your little brother's fat cock in your ass— _Gilbert—_ "

Gilbert's fingernails dug into his back as he gave a strangled cry, spilling white all over the vinyl cushions.

Ludwig tensed at the feeling of Gilbert's muscles contracting around him, and with a deep groan let loose, shuddering as he continued to drive in and out, riding the blissful waves of his orgasm.

When his muscles finally relaxed he withdrew quickly to snap off the condom and throw it aside. With a sigh he collapsed forward, sprawling over his brother's back.

They lay there for long minutes, breathing deeply. Ludwig couldn't think of anything to say; he was still stunned with afterglow.

Finally he lifted his head to look at his brother, whose eyes were gazing lazily off to the side. "Did you… like it?" he asked hoarsely.

Gilbert gave a huff of laughter. "Yeah, it was good."

Ludwig wanted to believe his brother, but Gilbert wasn't looking at him, and he was worried he would go into one of his guilty post-sex moods. He often seemed distant after they'd done something together.

"You don't… regret it, do you?" he said softly, trailing his fingers through the sweat beading down Gilbert's spine, too afraid to look up.

Gilbert blinked and looked at him. "Regret what?" he asked uneasily.

Ludwig shrugged. "I don't know. All of it."

Gilbert was silent for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak.

And then his phone started ringing.

Gilbert sighed and leaned over to grab his pants from the floor. Ludwig sat up to give him some room as he fished his cell out of his pocket.

Gilbert looked at the screen and groaned. He propped himself up on an elbow and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hey Dad."

Ludwig's stomach turned. He glanced at his brother guiltily, but Gilbert was just staring at him coolly. Ludwig blushed.

"Oh, no I haven't. …Well I've been a little busy." Gilbert sat up, scooting closer to his brother. He trailed a hand up his shoulder as he listened to the other end of the line.

Ludwig's face heated further at his brother's touch. He couldn't breathe right, sitting here naked with Gilbert while he was on the phone with their father.

"I know, Dad, I'll do it—because I know I have to!" Suddenly Gilbert ducked down to place a kiss beneath Ludwig's jaw.

Scandalized, Ludwig tried to twist away silently, giving his brother a warning look.

"Dad, just trust me, okay?" Gilbert seemed to be studying Ludwig's face as he said this. Then he rolled his eyes—apparently at something their father had said—and pulled Ludwig's head towards his so he could kiss him properly, holding the phone a little away from his ear.

Ludwig had to choke down his noise of alarm and pushed his brother off of him.

"Huh? Wha—no," Gilbert said quickly into the phone, then glared at his brother, disgruntled. "What? I don't know," he said distractedly. "Why don't you ask Ludwig? …No, haven't seen him for a while."

Ludwig had had enough. He tried to stand, but Gilbert tugged him back down by the wrist.

"Uh-huh. 'Kay. Yeah, bye." Gilbert hung up.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Ludwig burst out.

"What?" asked Gilbert defensively.

"That! What the hell was all that about?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes again. "Oh c'mon Lud, he couldn't see us."

"But you can't—it's not—it's a matter of principle!"

Gilbert laughed harshly. "Ludwig, you just fucked me, but now me kissing you while I'm on the phone is a matter of principle?"

"With our father!"

Gilbert smirked. "Yeah, all the better."

Ludwig stared at his brother. "Is that was this is? Is this—Mm. You are—really unbelievable sometimes."

"Why thank you."

"I'm being serious, Gilbert! Is this some fucking game to you? See how much we can get away with without Dad finding out? Is it all just about pulling one over on Dad to you?"

"Oh c'mon Lud." Gilbert sounded ticked off now. "Like I would do this just to get at Dad."

"I don't know, would you?"

Gilbert's sharp gaze met his brother's. Ludwig's eyes felt like ice on him.

Finally Ludwig looked away with a huff. "I'm leaving," he muttered.

"Fine." Gilbert crossed his arms.

Ludwig pulled his boxers and pants back on with angry tugs. "You can be so immature sometimes. It's pathetic, you know that?"

He saw Gilbert's throat and jaw move a little, eyes staring straight ahead. But the heat of Ludwig's anger was too much for him to stop and take it back. Anyways, Gilbert was the one who should be sorry. Sorry for _using_ Ludwig just because he never could get over his massive, infantile grudge against their father. Ludwig was sick of it, and he was hurt. Hurt that Gilbert would be so selfish, disregard Ludwig's feelings like that. Like this was all some fucking game to him, like all Ludwig had suffered was just something he could use against their dad.

He turned and stalked off, pulling on his shirt as he went.

Gilbert lay there, listening to his brother's heavy footsteps and the front door opening and closing. He didn't take his eyes off the same spot in the ceiling.

And then something like a little sob bubbled up through his lips.

_No. I will not cry. I'm not going to fucking cry. This is stupid, this is so stupid it's all so fucking stupid, I'm so stupid…_

He brought his hands up and pressed them against his face, trying to take deep breaths.

The vinyl was sticky and uncomfortable against all his naked skin. Sticky with the sweat and come from his brother fucking him.

"Oh god…" He hadn't meant to say it aloud, but it came out as a tiny moan.

How had it come to this? A week ago, one little week ago, his brother had told him he was in love with him. And Gilbert had done exactly what a good big brother should. He said that they couldn't be together like that, but that he loved his little brother very much and always would.

One little week, and the world had changed. His life, Ludwig's life had changed. And no matter how much he wanted, he couldn't take it back. One simple fucking week, and he couldn't ever erase it. He couldn't ever be the brother he'd once been, the one who'd been deserving of Ludwig's admiration and love.

Gilbert had never lusted after Ludwig, never even remotely seriously considered having sex with him. And yet the very same night after Ludwig had confessed, he'd fucked his little brother. And it had happened again several times since then. But no matter how hard Gilbert tried to wrap his head around it, he couldn't grasp _how_ it had happened.

How had he gone from the loving, caring big brother he was supposed to be to this, a slutty mess lying in his own semen? How had he gone to kissing his brother in public bathrooms, or while speaking with their own father?

Ludwig was right. He was pathetic.

There was a tightness in Gilbert's chest. He decided he couldn't just lie there, so he sat up shakily, then stood.

_One thing at a time. Get clean._

He walked into his bathroom, moving automatically, still trying to control his ragged breathing. Turn on the shower. Quick soap and rinse. He didn't care that the water was cold.

Then towel off. Put on clean underwear. He walked back out to the den and gathered his clothes. He wiped off the couch with his towel. Get dressed.

Gilbert threw the towel in the dirty laundry hamper and stood still in the middle of his room.

_Next step._

There was no next step.

_What am I going to do. Oh god what am I going to do?_

Ludwig's face, hurt, scornful, kept appearing in his mind. He needed to do something. He needed something to do or else he wasn't sure what he would do.

He needed to get out, go somewhere. Just start moving, or else he felt he'd be paralyzed there in the middle of his room forever, like some pathetic statue.

Gilbert was down the stairs and pulling on his coat and shoes before he could think too much about it. Then out the door, down the sidewalk, legs working automatically, just moving to be doing anything other than standing still.

But moving wasn't enough. He was ready to burst. He wanted to hurt something, hurt himself, do something terrible, something he wasn't supposed to do.

He could go to a bar, but he didn't want to be that loser who was drinking alone just to get drunk. And he didn't trust himself to go back home.

Matt's was out of the question.

Maybe he could go to Tim's. See what he was selling. But Tim usually liked people to call ahead of time, set up transactions.

And then he realized where he was walking.

Gilbert hadn't been on this street in a long time, but he could tell now he was walking an old familiar route. Had he meant to come here somehow, subconsciously? Or was it purely coincidence?

But this was certainly something he shouldn't do.

It was just what he was looking for.

Maybe even a bit worse. But screw the consequences.

He turned a corner, and saw the small one-story house. He paused when he reached it, taking it in.

It hadn't changed since he'd last seen it. Still the same color shutters, still the overflowing garden and cracked walkway to the small porch.

Gilbert walked towards it before he could second-guess himself. A surge of something thrilling coursed through him as he approached the door, the way it always did when he knew he was breaking the rules.

He rang the bell.

For a moment, there was nothing, but then he could hear the sound of footsteps coming to the door.

Gilbert's stomach tightened.

The door opened.

Gilbert smirked at the shocked man standing in the doorway.

"Evening, Arthur."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Ludwig goes to Angie and rethinks his argument with Gilbert, and, of course, need I say-Gilbert and Arthur.


	7. Chapter 5

Arthur Kirkland stood staring at the young man on his doorstep, mouth slightly agape.

Gilbert fought to keep the smirk on his face. "Well, you gonna invite me in or stand there catching flies all night?"

Arthur shut his mouth with an audible click of teeth and cleared his throat. "Ahem, um, yes, come in, of course," he managed stiffly.

Gilbert strode over the threshold past the professor and took in the interior of the small ranch-style house. It had changed as little as the exterior; still the same dull brown slightly ratty furniture set in the living room, the same Formica counters in the kitchen.

The sound of another throat-clearing turned Gilbert's head back to the other man. Arthur had closed the door and stood looking at him as if he were some rare species of bird that might flit away at any second should he move too suddenly.

Arthur swallowed. "Gilbert," he said, as though trying it out on his tongue after years of disuse.

Gilbert grinned. "Yes?"

"What. Are you doing here."

Gilbert raised his eyebrows in mock offense. "I though you said your door was open? Any time?"

"…I rather meant my office door than the door to my home. Let alone at ten o'clock at night."

"Well what's the difference? You didn't used to mind me comin' 'round this time of night."

Arthur stiffened, lips pursed and nostrils flared. "Things aren't exactly how they used to be, are they?"

Gilbert's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yeah, and who's fault is that?" he asked softly.

Anger flashed across the older man's green eyes and it looked for a moment as though he would retort, but then it was suppressed with a deep, tired sigh.

"Gilbert, why are you here?" Arthur hung his head and brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. For one painful second the gesture reminded Gilbert strongly of Ludwig, but he pushed it away.

"So I misunderstood your open invitation. Honest mistake. You gonna kick me out of your house now?"

"I've half a mind to, if you don't tell me what it is you want," Arthur replied, irritation rising in his voice.

"What I want?" Gilbert laughed lightly, turning to make his way towards the couch. "Come on, why so suspicious? Maybe I just want…" He waved his hand vaguely. "…to see you." He plopped down on a cushion sadly lacking in plumpness.

"You wanted… to see me," Arthur repeated slowly, not moving from his spot by the door.

"Is it so hard to believe? I mean, isn't that what you wanted when you invited me here?" Gilbert asked, head lolling back on the pillow.

"To my office, not my home," Arthur muttered, shuffling reluctantly over to a dead-looking armchair and slumping down in it.

"You've missed me, isn't that it?" Gilbert asked, a smirk creeping back into his voice.

Arthur reddened and spluttered for a moment. "Missed—I have not—" He regained his composure quickly, averting eye contact. "No. That's not it at all. I merely… I wanted to check up on you is all."

The reckless energy that had carried Gilbert here from his house flared up with sudden anger: an anger that had lain latent and deep for so long Gilbert had almost forgotten it.

"Check up on me." It was Gilbert's turn to repeat. He laughed incredulously. "You wanted—after all this time—"

Arthur must have misunderstood the disbelief in his voice, for he started, "Despite what you may believe, Gilbert, I am not completely heartless and cruel and yes, I like to maintain at least nominal ties with those with whom I was once close—"

"No, I'm sorry," Gilbert interrupted loudly, brazenly. "You don't get to have the satisfaction of 'checking up on me' to make yourself feel all better and responsible after doing a shit job of it for the past year and a half. You wanna check up on me _now_? That's fucking convenient, isn't it. Where were you when I was dealing with the mess you left me in?"

Arthur surveyed Gilbert coolly with his sharp eyes. "I wasn't the one who created your mess, Gilbert. You did that yourself, and you needed to sort it out yourself. You were and are an adult and I was not about to baby you and make you reliant on me. That would hardly have been healthy or responsible."

Gilbert snorted. "You are really one to talk about adulthood and responsibility, you know that? Because first off I was barely an adult, and you're the one who started the whole damn thing so way I see it you did have some sort of responsibility not to dump me on the side of the road."

"Funny how you always claim adulthood or lack thereof as it suits you. Didn't you always want me to treat you as an equal? And when I did you whined and complained like a child, Gilbert."

"That wasn't treating me like an equal! That was abusing your authority!"

Arthur sighed and rested his forehead in his hand. "Can we please skip the melodramatics? It is not my fault your performance declined drastically at the end of the year. If you had been willing to face the consequences of your actions the whole fiasco could have been avoided. It was your own irresponsible choices that led to your 'mess' and 'abusing my authority' is exactly what I was _not_ doing by refusing to clean your mess up for you."

"Well you chose a hell of a way to set an example for an irresponsible twenty-year-old. 'Cause, y'know, _sleeping with your students_ isn't irresponsible at all." Gilbert glared defiantly.

Arthur fixed him with a piercing look. He clasped his hands in his lap and leaned back.

He was silent for so long Gilbert began to grow uncomfortable under his calculating gaze. Then finally he spoke.

"I told you I would wait for you."

It wasn't entirely clear whether it was an accusation directed at Gilbert or simply a remark to himself of regret.

"Yeah, and what the hell was that supposed to mean?" Gilbert burst out. "I was twenty for Christ's sake. Was it supposed to be a reassurance? Because it made me panic more than anything."

"And you threw it in my face."

Guilt nipped at the back of Gilbert's mind but he refused to yield to it. "You don't just go throwing around promises like that," he grit out.

"I didn't go throwing them around. Only to you."

Gilbert scoffed. "Don't play the jilted lover with me. I'm not about to break down in tears and beg you to take me back. Don't lie to me. I know there have been others, and you've probably done the exact same thing with them."

"Yes there have been others," Arthur snapped, raising his voice. "But they are not you and I have not told them the same."

Gilbert was silent a moment, a new revelation dawning on him. He gave a humorless laugh, a smirk curling his lips once more. "I get it," he said slowly. "You've been trying to replace me, haven't you?"

Arthur reddened again, pursing his lips and looking away with a huff.

"But you haven't been able to, have you? You want me back. You do miss me after all," simpered Gilbert.

Arthur cleared his throat, red as a beet. "I believe we're getting away from the point here. As much as I would love to belabor our old grievances, you have not satisfactorily answered my question; what do you want?"

"It's not what I want; I'm here because you invited me." Gilbert knew it was a lie; he'd had no intention of taking Arthur up on the sudden invitation until he had realized he was almost to his house. But now that he was here, he realized he did want something—wanted to get his mind off of the present, wanted to take a hold of the past he was so used to ignoring, wanted to reshape it, wanted to control it, something, anything. Wanted revenge. Redemption.

"And you invited me because you want…" Gilbert trailed off, leaning in slightly.

"Not to reopen old wounds, that's for certain. This wasn't what I invited you for. Never mind that I meant my office and not my home," grumbled Arthur, bushy eyebrows drawing down over his eyes in retreat as Gilbert moved closer.

"Kesese, right, to 'check up on me,' I forgot. Ah Arthur, you never were good at admitting your emotions, were you?" Gilbert had risen from his seat to lean over the professor's armchair, one hand resting on the winged back.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably below him, refusing to look up. "You're one to talk," he muttered.

Gilbert shrugged. "Maybe so. But." He leaned down further, nearly face to face with the other man now. "I know what you want, even if you won't say it."

Arthur swallowed, still not meeting Gilbert's eyes. He looked as though he were trying to dissolve into the threadbare upholstery behind him. "No you don't." It came out defiant but somewhat strangled.

"Oh?" Gilbert breathed.

That reckless energy was still circulating through his veins, pumping fervently now with the scent of victory near. He was so close to Arthur's face he could count his individual eyelashes, see each wiry hair of his profuse eyebrows. His lips were inches away, closer…

…

Ludwig's anger rang in his ears as he bent his head into the nipping wind. He had texted Angie and was headed to her place; at least she didn't have any ulterior motives for being with him. She just liked him, for who he was, as astounding as that might be. He couldn't say the same of Gilbert.

His eyes pricked, but Ludwig told himself it was just the sting of cold air. He shouldn't be feeling anguish—he should be feeling righteous outrage. His brother was in the wrong here.

Ludwig took a few deep breaths, trying to regain his composure.

Okay. So maybe Gilbert hadn't exactly decided to start sleeping with him just to get at their father.

But still. How could Gilbert's daddy issues not be a part of this, a large part? Ludwig knew his brother. He had grown up with him and seen him go through his troubled adolescent stage, had been witness to far too many blow-ups between father and elder son. He knew that practically every act of rebellion on Gilbert's part was rooted in his anger at their father. Smoking, drinking, stupid little daredevil acts that raised Ludwig's blood pressure, even Gilbert's choice in clothing—anything Gilbert knew their father would disapprove of, he delighted in.

And what could their father possibly disapprove of more than an incestuous relationship between his sons?

Ludwig's blood boiled. This wasn't about him at all. It wasn't about how much Gilbert cared for him, how 'unique' and 'special' their bond as brothers was. It was about Gilbert, engaging in yet another stupid, risky activity, just because it made him feel in control, out of range of parental supervision, free, triumphantly rebellious. Because he was getting away with something that would kill their father.

Ludwig realized suddenly that he'd reached the door to his girlfriend's dorm. He hurried into the warmth of the lobby and headed up the stairs, taking two at a time.

In Angie's hallway he stopped for a moment to catch his breath and calm himself. He didn't want Angie to sense anything too off about him.

He decided to make a detour to the hall's men's bathroom for a perfunctory cleanup. He couldn't still smell like sex and Gilbert when he greeted his girlfriend.

When he knocked on Angie's door it opened almost immediately. Angie beamed up at him, brown eyes sparkling.

"Hey, come on in," she said, pulling him by the arm. She closed the door behind him and clasped her hands behind his neck, standing on tiptoes for a kiss. Ludwig obliged, grateful for an excuse not to speak or let her examine his face too closely just yet.

Her warm, soft lips were a sweet relief. Her mouth welcomed his tongue easily as she made a small, pleased sound, spurring Ludwig to bring his hands down to grasp her hips. He thought what an odd parody this was of what he'd enacted with Gilbert only shortly ago; or perhaps it was the other way around. Perhaps the parody had come first: Gilbert's selfish, incestuous kisses as a parody of a far more sanctioned act between Ludwig and his girlfriend. And that's all their relationship could ever be. A parody. A farce.

"Whoa, someone's eager," Angie laughed, drawing back. Ludwig hadn't realized how the angry thoughts of his brother had spurred him to kiss and grip Angie much harder than he'd meant to. "Miss me?" she asked, smiling.

Ludwig looked at her, breathing slightly too hard. He simply nodded, then leaned back in for another kiss, seeking that refuge, acceptance.

Angie made a slight surprised sound as their lips met again, but didn't protest as Ludwig kissed her fiercely.

He pushed her slowly towards the bed, until the small of her back hit the edge of the mattress. His hands were restlessly exploring her sides, hips, thighs.

When he trailed his lips down to Angie's jaw and began mouthing at her neck she tittered apprehensively.

"Slow down, lover-boy!"

She pushed gently on Ludwig's shoulder, forcing him to raise his head and look at her.

"What's all this about? Why all Don Juan all of a sudden?"

Ludwig made a face he would never admit was akin to a pout. "Do I need a reason to want to make out with my girlfriend?"

Angie raised her eyebrows. "Girlfriend? Is that what we're calling each other now? Boyfriend girlfriend?"

Ludwig reddened. "W-well… just…" He didn't have much experience with these things—actually, none at all, when it came to navigating the delicate matters of relationship terminology. But wasn't this okay? They'd seen each other several times and had every intention of continuing to do so, and moreover, they'd shared a bed—hell, they'd already had sex, though they were trying to let that premature event affect their relationship as little as possible. "…For convenience? And I mean, we kind of, I mean we are…" He floundered for words that didn't sound completely lame.

"No, no, it's okay, I didn't mean it's a bad thing, I was just a bit surprised. But, we can call each other that, if you want. And I mean, you're right, it is easier than saying 'the guy I like to go on dates and make out with who sometimes spends the night' every time, right?" She laughed.

Ludwig let out an inner sigh of relief. "Yeah." He smiled nervously.

"So, _boyfriend_ ," she grinned, "what's on your mind?"

"Huh?" Ludwig glanced at her guiltily.

Angie sighed, unwrapping her arms from his neck and scooting up onto her bed. "Come on, I know something's on your mind, from the way you came in here all guns blazing." She gave him a knowing look. "Do you want to tell me what it is?"

"Uh…" Ludwig was frozen. His mind raced to find an excuse, but none presented itself.

"I… um, I had a fight with my brother," he mumbled, resigning himself to a partial truth.

"Another one?"

Ludwig furrowed his brow in confusion.

"That night at the bar… you were upset with him then, too. You guys fight often, or is there some sort of sibling drama going on?"

Ludwig flinched, but assured himself that there was no way she could guess anything near the truth. "Um, well, we don't usually fight…" Or at least, they hadn't, in the past. Minor disagreements and snarky exchanges, sure, but never something like this.

"Hm. So. You had an argument and left before it was resolved?"

Ludwig nodded sheepishly.

"Do you mind my asking what it was about?"

Ludwig hesitated, then started, "I think… I think Gilbert's doing some," here he swallowed hard to keep the anger from resurfacing, "stupid things, just because he has a giant grudge against our dad. But he won't admit it."

"Gilbert? Is that your brother's name?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry."

"Wait, is he the albino guy?"

Ludwig flinched slightly, wondering how Angie could possibly know who he was. "Um, he has albinism, yes."

Angie looked confused before her eyes widened momentarily. "Oh, I'm sorry, is that what I'm supposed to say? Is it not okay to call him… albino?"

"Uh, well, yes, I mean it depends on context, but it's technically better to say he has albinism, the condition." Ludwig had explained this to so many people over so many years that he felt he really ought to have some sort of prepared statement by now, rather than always awkwardly stumbling for words that wouldn't sound too snobbishly self-righteous.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I had no idea that wasn't PC!"

"No no, it's okay, most people just don't know—I know you didn't mean to offend. And Gilbert knows too—he doesn't usually take offense unless someone's using it as an insult." This old conversation was stirring a familiar feeling of pride at standing up for his brother and educating others about his condition. There was something so terribly normal about it, reminding him of his protective instincts towards his older brother, of how things used to be, when they were young. He chastised himself for the unbidden fond memories—they weren't conducive to staying upset with his brother and holding him accountable, but that was exactly what Gilbert deserved.

"Oh God, thanks for letting me know before I went and embarrassed myself even more!" said Angie with a contrite smile.

"No worries. But—how do you know Gilbert?"

Angie explained to him about the cupcake incident when she'd met both Gilbert and Matthew.

For some reason, it bothered Ludwig.

Angie knew Gilbert and his boyfriend; they had been introduced to her as a sweet gay couple wronged by a homophobe, which had naturally incurred her sympathy. Before having even gotten to know Gilbert as her boyfriend's brother, she was rooting for him and Matthew.

 _I'm being ridiculous,_ Ludwig sighed to himself. _Of course she would support them. It's not like we're on teams here, it's not a rivalry. They deserve her support anyway. It's only natural, and she would have met them sooner or later._

He shook his head slightly and swallowed his unease.

"Ludwig?" Angie questioned.

"Uh, yeah—Gilbert never told me about that." That bothered him too. He didn't realize the stupid teenager in the bowling alley wasn't the only bigot they'd had to put up with recently. Why hadn't Gilbert told him? He could have comforted him. Did Gilbert not think it important? Or did he not trust Ludwig with that news? Did he not turn to him for comfort any more?

_Of course he wouldn't come to you. It's not about you, remember? He has Mattie for that. Why would Gilbert bother you with his problems? He doesn't trust you with that sort of thing—with emotional things—any more._

Angie misinterpreted the bitter look on his face. "I know, it's awful isn't it? I heard something from another friend about increased reports of homophobic incidences like that on campus. It's just so hard to believe in a fairly liberal place like this."

Grateful for the cover, Ludwig nodded. "Yeah, he—he probably doesn't want to worry me." For a split second, Ludwig considered that that might be true, but quickly pushed the hopeful thought away.

"So… about this argument… how did it end?"

Ludwig snorted. "Not good. He got all infantile and defensive, like he tends to, and I… I left." Reflecting, he realized 'stormed off' might be a better description, but he didn't want to admit that. He had had every right to anyway.

"Left… how?"

"…Angrily."

"Hm. And did you ever… let him explain himself, or ask him why he was doing—whatever stupid thing?"

Ludwig huffed. "He didn't need to explain: from the way he was acting it was clear—"

"So you didn't hear him out?" Angie looked at him skeptically.

Ludwig frowned. "He was being—"

"Ludwig," Angie interrupted again. "Maybe your brother was acting immaturely, and maybe you're right—maybe issues with your dad are playing into whatever it is you're talking about. But how do you expect him to react if you go accusing him without giving him the chance to express how he feels? It's not going to be a constructive discussion."

Ludwig blinked, a flame of stubborn anger still flickering in his chest. "But…" He struggled for a moment, then sighed. Anything he could say would make him sound just as childish and defensive as Gilbert. Which really wasn't fair because he _knew_ Gilbert was in the wrong here—and yet, maybe Angie had a point. Maybe he hadn't handled it so well.

He sighed again and rubbed a hand down his face. "I guess. He's just so impossible to talk to sometimes…" Ludwig realized he was simply indulging his own desire to grumble at this point.

Angie smiled sympathetically, rubbing his arm. "I'm sure. But maybe you should try after you've both cooled down a bit."

Ludwig nodded reluctantly. "Yeah."

Angie gave his arm a squeeze and hopped off the bed to pull a nightshirt out of a drawer. "Whew, sometimes I'm glad I'm a single child. Such drama with siblings, huh?" She laughed lightly and started to change.

Ludwig's brow furrowed. That hurt more than it should. He thought of Al and his jealousy of their sibling relationship, and how undeserved Ludwig had felt that jealousy was. He remembered much longer ago, near the start of the semester—a lifetime it seemed, before any of this mess had even started—when Kiku and Herakles had expressed their own longing and admiration for a relationship like Ludwig had with his brother.

But that was no more. Angie had uncovered the truth, however unintentionally. Gilbert's and his relationship was nothing to envy.

Ludwig struggled to find his voice for a moment before attempting to add casually in defense, or perhaps denial, "It's—it's not so bad, sometimes."

She laughed and turned to him again. "Oh, of course not. Believe me, I wish I had a sibling much more often than I'm glad I don't have one. And," she approached him to drape her arms over his shoulders once more, "it's clear you really care about your relationship with your brother. That's what counts most, even if things don't always go smoothly. I'm sure he must feel the same too."

Her eyes were so trusting, encouraging, and full of warmth that Ludwig almost had to turn away. She had no idea. She was unwittingly giving him advice on an incestuous, cheating relationship. And worst of all, she was right. Ludwig knew, deep down, that she was right. Gilbert did care too. Even if the past week had been some crazily fucked up experiment, a terrible aberration from everything they had ever been in the past, Gilbert still cared. There was no way, after everything Gilbert had ever said, ever done for him, that he would intentionally manipulate Ludwig so cruelly, that he would stop caring. At the unlikeliest of moments, hadn't Gilbert reaffirmed that very promise?

_You're my brother. I'll love you no matter what._

Ludwig quickly pulled Angie into a hug so she wouldn't see the shine of threatening tears in his eyes.

_God I'm an idiot._

Suddenly a terrible wave of remorse swept over him. The things he'd said—the way Gilbert had looked—the way he had _left_ him. Shit. He knew Gilbert better than that. The childish responses, the infuriatingly immature attitude—they drove Ludwig crazy, but he knew they were his brother's defense mechanism. He acted that way to hide that he was _hurt._ That _Ludwig_ had hurt him.

And his own goddamn fucking _anger_ had clouded his judgment. Again. He should know better.

"Hey," said Angie softly, rubbing his back. She pulled away to look up at him. "I have to get to bed now—I have an early morning. You want to stay?"

Ludwig hesitated, then nodded.

Angie smiled. "Good. And don't worry—you can talk to your brother tomorrow. I'm sure you'll sort it out."

Ludwig wasn't quite sure how to process the flood of gratitude he felt towards the girl before him. So he silently prepared himself for bed and climbed in behind her, pulling her to his chest with a softly whispered "good night" and a kiss on the cheek.

…

"Don't." The sudden command was quiet but firm. Gilbert stopped where he was, a few hairs' breadths from the other man's lips. Finally, Arthur turned to fix his green eyes on Gilbert's red, tilting his head back so he wouldn't go cross-eyed. "That's not what I want."

Gilbert's eyes narrowed. "Isn't it? Isn't this what you were hoping for?"

Arthur stood suddenly, forcing Gilbert to stumble back. "Not like this," he grit out.

"Why not like this? I'm offering you what you want! Aren't you tired of waiting?" Gilbert shot back.

Arthur laughed mirthlessly. "Gilbert, if you honestly think I put my life on hold to wait for you after what happened then you have even more to learn than I thought. That offer was revoked long ago." He took a deep breath and lowered his gaze. "Now I do not deny that I have looked back on parts of our relations fondly—"

Gilbert snorted. "You mean other than in the bedroom?"

Arthur ignored him and continued, raising his voice. "—nor that I have sincerely regretted the course things took. If you wish I would be willing to discuss the matter in a civilized manner at another time but I fail to see the evidence that you have gained the maturity to do so and I am highly dubious your sincerity in coming here tonight so if you would kindly leave now please."

Gilbert stared at him. He swallowed down the lump of humiliated anger in his throat, but the outrage of injustice still boiled deep in his gut.

"It was a mistake to come here," he admitted, struggling to keep his voice even. "But only because I see you're still just the same arrogant, self-righteous bastard you always were. I know I made some mistakes back then, okay? But so did you, only you aren't man enough to admit it. You did some fucked up shit and you know it, so quit playing the saint and talking down to me."

Arthur pursed his lips. "You know what I think?"

"What?" drawled Gilbert, glaring.

"I think you want me to take you back as badly as you claim I want you. You just won't admit it. You felt safe with me and you haven't since. And maybe when you're ready to admit that, we can talk about it."

Something twinged inside Gilbert as the words unexpectedly hit home. Arthur was wrong about one thing; Gilbert still had far too much anger towards his former professor to want him back. And yet—he had once provided a sense of security. And Gilbert was so tired of feeling his security shatter that he had never once since then allowed himself to sink into the complacency of complete trust. And he suddenly wondered, what would it be like to be held and taken care of again, to depend entirely on someone older and more experienced, to defer his troubles and worries?

But he didn't let the thought stay long. That wasn't an option. This man had wronged him and hurt him and Gilbert frankly didn't care if it had been partially due to his own childish selfishness. The pain was too deep.

Gilbert took a step towards the older man. "Sorry, that's just your own wishful thinking." A new confidence seized him when he saw the look of hastily hidden disappointment on Arthur's face. "But, you know what I wouldn't mind?"

Arthur took a step back as Gilbert drew nearer, but the backs of his legs met the armchair.

Gilbert leaned in close once more. "Just a quickie, for old times' sake," he whispered. "I'd let you. You could even fuck me against the wall, remember how much you liked that?"

He was practically pressed up against the other man now, and he could feel his quickened breathing. Arthur's expression was a mixture of irritated and flustered that had once been very familiar to Gilbert. He brought his hands up to either side of his face and he could see Arthur swallow despite himself.

"Just one… little…"

He brought their faces together, touched his lips to Arthur's pale ones. For one long, brilliant moment he could feel the heat of his flesh, his heart pounding in his chest, feel the sweet softness of another mouth and the thrill of kissing someone he knew he really shouldn't.

But it was different than with Ludwig. There was no tight little coil of sickness deep inside, no gnawing worry that he would hurt the other person. And Gilbert realized in a moment of malicious clarity that he did not care if he hurt Arthur. There was something frighteningly refreshing about that.

He drew back, ready to play compliant, let this man have his way and forget about responsibility and compassion; fuck him and forget him, leave him to stew in his confusion and guilt, as he knew Arthur would do. But the next words caught him off guard.

"You should go. Now."

They were barely more than whispered, but they could not be clearer in their intent. Gilbert stepped back and looked up at Arthur's resolute expression with incredulity.

The harsh green eyes did not soften. Gilbert swallowed, hands clenching.

"Fine." He strode towards the door. "Let me know if you change your mind," he threw back over his shoulder casually.

Arthur didn't say a word or turn to look at him as Gilbert opened the door and braced himself against the cold air outside. He turned back as an afterthought.

"Oh, and Arthur—"

Arthur stiffened and glanced over his shoulder.

"Keep your hands off my brother."

Arthur frowned. "My interest in Ludwig is purely intellectual," he said indignantly.

Gilbert snorted. "Yeah, like I haven't heard that one before." And he shut the door behind him, stepping out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: How does Gilbert deal with Arthur's rejection, and what happens when the boys finally face each other again? Perhaps they'll get just a little well-deserved relief from all the angst.


	8. Chapter 6

Ludwig couldn't sleep.

He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, one arm still stuck beneath Angie's warm, soft body.

He couldn't get his mind off of Gilbert.

Gilbert, lying on the couch, not looking at him. The bobbing of his throat as he swallowed his hurt. The coldness in his voice.

Ludwig wondered if he was still there, lying on that sticky couch where they'd had sex only a few hours ago. He wondered if he had made his brother cry.

Probably not. Gilbert would go and do something stupid to get his mind off it before he'd let himself cry.

Ludwig sighed. What was Gilbert up to now? Had his brother run off to Mattie, like he had to Angie? Was he stewing in his own misery, locked up in his room? Maybe he'd gone out to get shitfaced. Yeah, that would be like him.

Guilt tightened its grip on Ludwig's gut. It was his fault, if Gilbert had gone and done something reckless and idiotic. It was Ludwig's fault if Gilbert was doing something he'd regret later.

_I should call him. He's probably still awake, unless he's passed out drunk on a sidewalk somewhere._

Ludwig glanced wistfully at Angie's peacefully sleeping face. He gently brushed a few strands of wiry hair from her forehead, loath to wake her.

But this couldn't wait till tomorrow. He needed to know that Gilbert was okay, and now.

Slowly, carefully, he attempted to slide his arm out from under Angie's side. He cringed when she stirred, but she merely shifted positions, allowing Ludwig to free his arm. He sat up, untangled his legs from the covers, and scooted off the edge of the bed.

Cellphone in hand, he tiptoed into the hallway, leaving the door ajar behind him.

He second-guessed himself as his thumb hovered over the "call" button. Gilbert probably wouldn't want to talk to him. And maybe Ludwig was being too quick to forgive. Even if he'd overreacted, Gilbert's behavior earlier still wasn't tolerable; he'd have to make that clear to his brother.

But that could wait. Right now, he needed to make sure Gilbert was okay.

He pressed the button.

…

Gilbert had to use every ounce of self-restraint he still possessed not to slam the door as he re-entered his house. The others were probably already in bed—or at least Vash would be, seeing as the guy ran like clockwork—but it wasn't that Gilbert didn't want to wake them. He just didn't want to deal with explaining his actions at this moment.

He rushed up to his room and locked the door behind him, then flung himself down on his armchair.

This sucked.

The restless energy was still in him, but he had nowhere to go, nothing to do with it. He couldn't see Matt in this state—especially after kissing another man. And not even his brother. Ludwig was one thing; with Ludwig, Gilbert could tell himself it wasn't really cheating. Ludwig was his brother, Mattie was his boyfriend, the two did not intersect, end of story.

But Arthur. Arthur was something else. He was not family. He was a past love interest. Gilbert had been ready to cheat on his boyfriend with an ex.

_Fuck. I want a drink._

Gilbert opened the bottom drawer of his desk, only to find an empty bottle of Tamiroff.

_Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckitty-fuck._

He tossed the useless bottle into his trashcan.

He could go to a bar.

But, he was running low on money before his next paycheck and paying per drink was expensive when one just wanted to get shitfaced.

Probably wasn't a good idea anyways, without anyone available to carry his drunk ass back home.

Suddenly an idea struck. Gilbert shot up and went to his dresser, rummaging through his socks in the top drawer until he found what he was looking for.

He held up the plastic zip-lock bag, examining the contents. There was definitely enough.

Weed wasn't exactly ideal. Weed was what Gilbert wanted when he was having a good time, chilling with friends. He didn't see much point to smoking it alone. He didn't really feel like lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling, nor like watching Adventure Time or other equally entertaining-while-high videos on YouTube.

And he could still _think_ when he smoked. It didn't make him forget, like drinking. It didn't make him numb.

But it did cover everything in a rosy haze. Maybe, if he smoked enough, he would be too fascinated by the wood grain patterns in his furniture to concentrate on anything painful.

And it was all he had at the moment.

 _Here's to it,_ he thought, and set about getting out his papers and card.

…

Ludwig's heart skipped a beat when he heard the ringtone cut off and a rustling on the other end of the line.

"Hullo?" Gilbert's voice. A little groggy.

Ludwig swallowed. "Gilbert… um, it's me…" Hadn't he seen the caller ID?

"Who?"

He frowned. "Ludwig. Are—what are you doing?"

"Oh. Oh hey Lud."

Ludwig's frown deepened. This was weird. "…Hey. Where are you?"

"Um. In my room." Gilbert's voice sounded more hoarse than usual, and a little strained.

Ludwig blinked. "Oh. Um…" He cleared his throat. "I… I wanted to… uh, check—check if you…" He trailed off. Now he felt stupid. Why was Gilbert acting so nonchalant?

Gilbert didn't say anything, so Ludwig took a deep breath and tried again. "'Msrry."

"Huh?"

"I said… I'm sorry. About earlier."

"Oh. That. Yeah."

"Gilbert—" This was just too strange. Something was off. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," said Gilbert, a bit too lightly.

"Should I… Can I come over?" asked Ludwig quietly. It was probably the only way he'd get to the bottom of this. Gilbert wasn't telling him something, but he couldn't pry it out of him over the phone.

"Uh, sure."

"…Okay… I'll see you soon, then."

"Okay, yeah. Bye."

_Click._

Ludwig frowned at his phone for several seconds before heading back into Angie's room. He dressed, bundling up in his jacket to face the cold outside.

Angie stirred and blinked sleepy eyes at him. "Hmm? Whaddya doin'?"

He rested a hand on her cheek. "Going to see Gilbert. I'm sorry, I just… can't let it wait."

Angie pouted slightly. "Oh. You have to do it now?"

Ludwig nodded.

She let out a yawn that turned into a sigh. "Okay then. Call me tomorrow, 'kay?" she mumbled, already nestling her head back into the pillow, eyes slipping shut.

"Okay," Ludwig whispered. He leaned down to give her a quick peck on the cheek, and slipped out the door.

…

Gilbert glanced lethargically at the half-smoked joint in his hand as he lay sprawled on his bed. He had been paranoid about sounding high on the phone with his brother, but now that Ludwig was coming over there seemed no point in hiding it. He would be able to tell. It hadn't occurred to Gilbert to refuse his brother, though.

Now that he had the luxury of concentrating on things other than strictly controlling his vocal patterns, Gilbert thought about what Ludwig had actually said.

_I'm sorry._

Had he really heard that? Maybe he was higher than he thought and the whole phone conversation had just been some real-as-fuck hallucination.

_About earlier._

Earlier. Yeah, that had been a shit-show.

The tears hit him before he realized he felt like crying.

He wasn't even really sure why he was crying. Was it because of what he'd done, or because of what Ludwig had done? Or because Ludwig had apologized? Or because he just felt miserable in general, about Ludwig, about Arthur, about Matt, about himself?

It was too much bother to try to figure it out. The reason didn't matter. So Gilbert just let himself cry.

By the time Ludwig tentatively opened his door—Gilbert hadn't heard his footsteps on the stairs—the tears had turned silent, leaking slow and far between like drops from a faucet not turned off quite tight enough.

But Ludwig saw them right away. Just as quickly as he smelled the marijuana and noticed the joint between his brother's fingers.

He didn't look angry, like Gilbert thought he would be. He just looked sad. Sad and tired.

Ludwig walked over to the bed. "You're not supposed to smoke," he said quietly.

Gilbert waved his hand. "Doesn't count. If it's not cigarettes."

Ludwig rolled his eyes. "Does so."

Gilbert fumbled for the lighter on his bedside dresser and relit the joint. "Want some?" he croaked, proffering it to Ludwig as he breathed the smoke out slowly.

Ludwig sighed and looked at the joint for a long time. "Sure. Why not," he finally said.

Gilbert sat up, patting the spot next to him. Ludwig clambered onto the mattress and settled in next to his brother, accepting the joint.

Ludwig was hesitant. The last time he had smoked was… well, that first time. He'd rather not think about that. But surely this would be different. He was here with only Gilbert, alone, together… sharing something. Maybe that was all they needed. Even if it was weed.

 _Weird way to make up,_ Ludwig scoffed to himself, before bringing the stub to his lips and sucking in hard.

He coughed after letting out the smoke, and Gilbert patted his back awkwardly.

They passed the joint back and forth in silence, save the occasional choking on Ludwig's end.

He kept wondering if his brother was going to say something, explain the tracks of tears still glistening on his cheeks.

Or maybe he ought to speak first, tell Gilbert he knew how stupid he'd been, how sorry he was.

Ludwig didn't speak up until Gilbert was stubbing out the joint in a used mug and the furniture on the edges of Ludwig's vision was moving suspiciously.

He cleared his throat, suddenly full of phlegm. "So," he tried to start out.

Gilbert leaned back and looked at him lazily. "So."

"Um…" he ran a hand down his face, trying to collect his thoughts. "I mean, I guess I… I, came to apologize…"

Gilbert giggled.

Ludwig glanced at him, less shocked than he would normally be, but mildly confused.

Gilbert giggled again, until it turned into a full-out laugh. "Kesesesese, 'apologize' is such a weird word! Apolly-gize. A-polly-lolly-gize, kesese. A-polly-lolly-jolly, kesesese… It's like… a popsicle flavor. Wait no! A—a, fuck, um—LOLLIPOP! That's what they're called! It's like a lollipop, right Lud?" Gilbert keeled over laughing on the comforter.

Ludwig stared at him a moment before the infectious giggles caught him too. He wasn't sure why he was laughing, really—it wasn't funny, it was _dumb._ And yet, so so… _Gilbert._ His brother. His silly old brother.

Grinning widely, Ludwig leaned down to hug him. "You're… ridiculous!" he laughed.

" _I'm_ not ridiculous! This is ridiculous! We're ridiculous!"

"Why are we ridiculous?"

"Because—because, we're… I mean this is crazy, right? I was just like, you wanna smoke? And you were like, yeah sure, and so we smoked and now… we're here… I mean, we're brothers, right? It's like, we're connected, right? It's crazy!"

Ludwig laughed, face buried against Gilbert's chest. "I… guess? I don't get it."

"It's okay, you don't have to get it, if there's nothing to get. You just gotta… like, be it. You know what I mean? Like, we're just sitting here, and we _are_ it. We don't have to think it. We just—we _are brothers_. You know?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"And it's, you know, not something that can change. It just _is_ , and even if, I dunno, the universe ended, we'd still be brothers. Even if we didn't exist."

Ludwig nodded. It sounded really deep to him, but he wasn't sure if that was just the weed. "You're right, absolutely."

"Hey, hey Lud." Gilbert sounded like he was about to start laughing again.

"Huh?"

"Remember that game we used to play? That thing we'd do? Like, if we were in a store with lots of nice shit, and I'd tell you not to knock anything over, or else the world would end?"

"What are you talking about?" Ludwig laughed.

"Oh come on you know, it was like—if you knock over this vase, the shards will fly everywhere and break that glass case, then everything in the case will fall over and the whole cabinet will fall over and there'll be, like, a domino effect and it will hit the wall and break it and the building will collapse into the one next to it and before you know it the whole town will be destroyed and eventually the chain of destruction will ruin the whole world, just because of that one vase."

Ludwig was laughing into Gilbert's shirt. "Yeah, haha, I do remember that!"

"And you believed it! I scared you so bad. And you never knocked anything over."

"Ha, but you did! Remember?"

"What are you talking about?" it was Gilbert's turn to ask.

"At Romeo's place, when Dad took us over for dinner once, remember? It was that vase he'd brought back from Italy and you started playing with it and Dad told you to stop but you didn't, and then it fell over and broke!"

"Oh my God thaaaat. How do you even remember that, that was like, twenty years ago!"

"I wasn't alive twenty years ago, genius."

"Close enough. Fuck, Dad was piiiisssssed. But Romeo was so nice about it, I think Dad wished he woulda yelled at me or something but I was grounded anyway. Man. I still feel guilty every time I think about that."

"At least the world didn't end."

They burst out laughing again.

"Or maybe it did, you don't know!" exclaimed Gilbert. "We could just be, like, disembodied brainwaves or something. Or like, brains floating in a jar. Sometimes I think about that. We're like, stacked on a shelf in God's lab closet or some shit. 'Failed Experiment.'"

"Haha, you're crazy. You're crazy."

"No, but really, like, we see all this stuff right? But… just because we can observe it does that mean it's real? Maybe we're caught in some playback loop, and it's an illusion that everything is changing and progressing. I mean, if a tree falls in a forest… how does it know it's a tree?"

Ludwig considered that carefully for a moment. "I… don't think… trees are sentient, Gilbert."

They looked at each other, and burst out laughing again.

A loud knock on the door cut through the sound of their hilarity.

"Come in!" called Gilbert.

The door opened and a sleep-disheveled Elizaveta poked her head in. She took in the situation quickly and frowned. "Honestly Gilbert, if you're going to smoke open a window at least."

"But it's fucking cold out there!"

"I don't care. Anyway, could you two please… keep it down?" She glanced over them suspiciously, warily. "Roddy's got an early morning and we're all trying to sleep."

"Oh okay, we'll be quiet. Quiet as little white mice." Gilbert grinned.

Ludwig fought to stifle his laughter in his brother's chest, thinking, _Gilbert would look like a little white mice. Mouse._

Elizaveta rolled her eyes. "Right. You do that."

"Good night Liz!"

"Night, you two. And I am coming back in here if it gets too loud." She closed the door behind her as she left.

The brothers' giggles died away as they lay there on the bed, sinking into a long, contented silence.

"Are we… being quiet? Like little… white mice?" whispered Ludwig at one point.

Gilbert snorted and covered his mouth. "Better believe it," he whispered back with a grin.

He slipped his arms around Ludwig's shoulders, holding his brother closer and rubbing his back absent-mindedly.

After a while longer he squeezed him tight. "I love you Lud."

Ludwig hugged Gilbert in return. His body was warm and so wonderfully _solid._ "Me too. Love you."

More silence and a pleasant sense of drifting, like on a raft in a pool. Then Ludwig said, "You were crying earlier."

"Oh. Yeah I guess."

"…Why?"

"Um. I just…"

"Was it… because of what I said earlier? Because I—I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it Gil, okay?"

"Okay."

Ludwig propped himself up on an elbow to look down at his brother. "Is that why you were crying?"

Gilbert shrugged. "I dunno. That and other stuff."

Ludwig frowned. "What other stuff?"

"Just… stuff. You know."

"Well… whatever it was, what I said was stupid. I want you to know that. I know you didn't… I know you're not just trying to get at Dad, okay?"

Gilbert nodded. "Yeah, of course."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it's fine. I'm completely fine."

Ludwig looked at him a second. "Okay. Just don't… don't kiss me when you're talking to Dad and stuff like that, okay?"

"It was kinda funny though." Gilbert laughed.

Ludwig started to laugh when his brother did—he couldn't help it. "No, no it's not!" he protested, trying to calm himself down and wipe the involuntary grin from his face. "It's not funny at all! I don't know why I'm laughing! I'm serious!"

"Okay, okay," conceded Gilbert, still giggling.

Somehow Ludwig managed to compose himself. "I am serious though, Gil. It's not…" He grappled with what he was trying to express. "It's not funny. It's not a game. If Dad found out—"

"What are you worrying for?" Gilbert cut in. "He's not gonna find out."

"…But you know… we have to be _careful_." Ludwig hoped it didn't come out as stupidly earnest as it sounded in his head. He wondered if he was getting paranoid.

"Hmph. Takes all the fun out of it."

Gilbert was gazing somewhere across the room. Ludwig examined his face, admiring the curve of his cheek, the pinkish shine of his eyes, the visible softness of his snowy hair. He reached out to brush it back from his face without thinking about it.

"So… why _are_ we doing this? I mean, why are you doing this, Gil?"

Gilbert's head lolled to the other side so he could look at his brother. "Whaddya mean, why am I doing what?"

"You know—this whole, like, crazy thing. Us. What—what are we doing? Why did… you do it? Agree. With me. To, you know."

Gilbert shrugged. He giggled. "Lud, I'm way too high for this."

Ludwig shook his brother's arm childishly. "Come on Gilbert. Tell me," he whined.

Gilbert sat up with a sigh, a vague smile on his face and eyelids heavy. "I don't know."

"Gilbert," Ludwig groaned, putting his arms back around his brother's shoulders and hanging off of him. He knew he must seem terribly immature at the moment, but he just wanted Gilbert _close_.

"Are we okay?" he asked quietly after a while.

"Yeah, we're okay. It's okay. I'm not gonna let anything happen. Anything bad. You want me to scare away the monsters under your bed? I'm there, Gilbert the Awesome. You want me to… check your shoes for spiders? Well I fucking hate spiders so you're out of luck there, but, I'd—I'll jump off a bridge. If you wanted. Seriously."

"Why would I want you to jump off a bridge?"

"No, but it's—it's, like. Crazy. You know?"

"What's crazy? You're crazy."

"I know, but like—so is everything else. You just gotta…" Gilbert frowned and rubbed a hand down his face. "I don't know. But." He looked at Ludwig. "You have to trust me," he said seriously.

"I do. About what?" Ludwig's brow furrowed.

"Just—" Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut for a second, like he was trying to concentrate or blink sleep away. "You're my little brother. You're… Luddy. You're _my_ Luddy, and there's only one _Luddy_ Luddy, even if there are lots of Luddies. You're… my _Brüderchen_. You're like, _THE Brüderchen_. And that's the most important thing." He fixed Ludwig with a solemn stare.

Ludwig smiled. He liked hearing that. He leaned his forehead against his brother's, reveling in his warmth. He felt like he could feel Gilbert all over, feel him better than ever before. His whole body, every nerve, felt aware of his brother's presence.

"Do you think that… we can be, beyond the edges of our bodies?" he asked slowly.

Gilbert hummed, a smile back on his face. "Sure, why not?"

"I feel like that now."

"Cool. Me too."

Ludwig gazed at his brother, nearly cross-eyed they were so close. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yeah," Gilbert said with a slight giggle.

Ludwig brought their lips together and was immediately drowned in the sensation of _heat_ , _silk._ So incredibly soft, all over, like his entire body was mirroring the nerve endings in his lips.

He hummed into it, kissing languidly. He smiled against Gilbert's mouth. "Your lips are like pillows," he giggled.

"I know!"

"I—wanna—" he tried to continue kissing as he spoke—"take a nap on them, haha…"

"You can—nap on my lips—mm, if you—want…"

They made out for a long while, having lost all sense of time. It seemed to Ludwig like it wasn't very long at all, yet at the same time as if Gilbert's lips were all he knew, everything before them a distant dream, and his brother's mouth a constant permutation of possibility. There was always a new curve of the tongue, angle of the teeth to discover.

Their heads hit the pillow and they broke apart. They lay side by side, contented to feel the rise and fall of each other's ribcages, examine the fibers of each other's shirts and the bedcovers.

Eventually Gilbert reached over to turn out the lamp, but they didn't fall asleep immediately.

There was some amorphous thought turning through Ludwig's mind that he was struggling to bring into focus. It seemed terribly important, even if he couldn't place why.

"I know that…" he finally started, hesitantly, "…I'm still, pretty high. But… don't you think… I mean, couldn't we just… _choose_ to be happy?"

"Hmm?" Gilbert hummed lazily.

"I mean, I know—what we're doing, now, it's all—I mean we're high, right? You're still high?"

"Yeah." A giggle.

"I think I'm still high too."

"You're high."

"Okay. But… we're okay, right? And couldn't we always… just, choose to be okay? Just stop… stop blaming yourself for everything, okay? Stop… worrying about me. I'm fine. And just now, you kissed me, and I think—I think it's the first time it really seemed like you were enjoying it. Without any guilt or holding back and that's what… that's what I want, Gilbert. So can't we just both have what we want and, be _happy_? Like this? We don't need to be high to be happy. Together."

Gilbert was quiet a moment. Then, "…I guess."

Ludwig smiled. "You know, Feli told me that. He said, he chooses to be happy—he just, you know, doesn't let things get to him and I think that's so great, because, why do we have to let it get to us? It's all about… perception. Right? If something upsetting doesn't make you upset, it's not upsetting. And like, that's why we're happy now, right? Altered _perception_. So, all you have to do is _see_ things, and see them, a certain way, I mean, and…"

Gilbert snorted a little. "Go to sleep, Lud," he said amiably.

"But I'm serious, you know?"

"You're always serious. You're too serious."

"But, how can you not… I mean, this is our _life_ , it's serious!"

Gilbert yawned. "Totally. Good night, Luddy."

Ludwig put his head down on Gilbert's chest, but his thoughts spun for a good while longer about Gilbert's smile and his lips, and the essence of happiness; though he wasn't sure how much of his deep realizations was really him, or just the drug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: "Choose to be happy"-does it go as planned?


	9. Chapter 7, Part 1

Gilbert seemed different. Not different in a bad way; different in a strange, exhilarating way. Ludwig could sense it whenever he was with his brother in the following week. Gilbert seemed to have remembered what Ludwig had said, even through the haze of the drug. _Why can't we just choose to be happy?_

Happiness, for Gilbert, turned out to be a thrilling affair. If he wasn't allowed to mope and brood and second-guess himself, he had to go full-throttle.

Ludwig learned this in a very tangible way when he happened to run into his brother outside the cafeteria in the student center the day after they had made up. Gilbert caught his eye with a smirk that made Ludwig blush and glance around; luckily Feliciano, with whom he had just finished eating lunch, was oblivious. Gilbert asked pointedly if Ludwig had anywhere to be, and catching his tone, Ludwig told Feliciano he'd catch up with him later.

Gilbert simply grabbed his brother by the elbow and steered him down a side hallway with the perfunctory excuse that he had to speak with him. He refused to explain as he led him to the little-used area behind the student black box theater and shoved him into a dressing room.

He had Ludwig up against a wall with his belt undone before Ludwig had time to grasp what was happening. Ludwig was so surprised when Gilbert went down on his knees that he didn't complain; not until Gilbert had his warm mouth around his cock did Ludwig offer the meek objection that they might be caught.

Gilbert ignored him. Ludwig was all too happy to go along. In fact, knowing that someone could walk in any second made it all the more titillating. He knew it was crazy, that they shouldn't take risks like this, but it was far too easy to brush aside that rational voice in his mind when Gilbert was sucking on him with such relish and fire in his eyes.

He hardly had time to enjoy his post-orgasmic glow, however. Gilbert had barely stood and done his pants back up for him when there came a clatter at the door and in barged a janitor with a mop and bucket, who was none too happy to see them. She gave them the hairy eyeball and told them they weren't supposed to be in there if they weren't affiliated with a theater group, and they were out the door, Gilbert throwing some half-assed excuse over his shoulder.

Ludwig's heart was pounding, but Gilbert seemed to think there was hardly anything in the world funnier.

It became more difficult to spend nights at Gilbert's. Gilbert had rightly pointed out that it might look odd to his housemates, and now that Elizaveta had found out Ludwig didn't really want to deal with the knowing, troubled looks she seemed to give him whenever they crossed paths. And Matt often stayed over, or Gilbert went to Matt's. Angie expected to be sharing a bed with Ludwig more regularly as well. On nights he wasn't with her, Ludwig curled up alone in his own bed, listening to Feliciano snore across the room, and wishing he could feel his brother's arms around him.

But Gilbert was determined to find a way around these inconveniences. When faced with a challenge, he was damned if he didn't find a way to overcome it and then some.

He would often text Ludwig, just a meeting place and time. It made Ludwig smile to himself; his brother had always liked pretending he was in a spy movie. It reminded him of the make-believe games Gilbert had practically press-ganged him into when they were younger. Ludwig had been a reluctant spy, yet the memories were oddly fond.

Such meetings cut into his homework time, but for once he couldn't bring himself to admonish his brother for causing him to fall behind in class. Not when Gilbert whisked him away to empty practice rooms (which had the benefit of soundproofing and lockable doors) or even picked him up in the car and drove to secluded parking lots where they put the cramped back seat to the best use they could.

It was almost unnerving how eager Gilbert was in times like these. He teased Ludwig mercilessly, both with the verbal jabs of an older brother and with maddening touches. As willing as Ludwig was, it was more often Gilbert who initiated things. Giggling and sliding his hands under Ludwig's shirt or up his thighs, his face would light up with a reckless delight and optimism Ludwig had rarely seen in his brother the past few years. It caught Ludwig off guard, but he was too relieved by Gilbert's seeming change of heart to question it.

School, on the other hand, became more stressful when Ludwig wasn't prepared for class. That was something he was not used to. He found himself dreading being called on by Kirkland because he hadn't done the reading. He was even forced to turn to Spark Notes, something he'd always regarded with supreme contempt in high school. He felt guilty, but Kirkland didn't say anything; perhaps he hadn't even noticed.

Luckily there was no homework for his psychology lecture, but Ludwig was dreading the upcoming midterm. His advanced German class had always been a breeze—he was only taking it to brush up his rusty grammar—but the weekly assignments were wearing on him. He found himself rushing to fill in pitifully easy worksheets fifteen minutes before class, and he hadn't even begun to think about the essay due before Thanksgiving. He hadn't started on his next paper for his freshman writing seminar either, and realized he might have to acquaint himself with, as his brother had always called it, much to Ludwig's disapproval, "the fine art of bullshitting." At least he didn't have to worry about gym class; he'd opted for "fitness" and simply had to show up and work out for fifty minutes. It was almost a relief from everything else, despite how tired he was.

He skipped Mathias' "literary discussion circle" that week for a tryst with Gilbert, and told his suitemates afterward that he'd been in the library studying. It was only a half-lie; Gilbert had somehow convinced him to help cross "doing it in the stacks" off his bucket list.

When Gilbert asked him to come to a party at Berwald's and Tino's that weekend, Ludwig had half a mind to do the responsible thing and refuse on account of his unfinished piles of homework. But he couldn't resist the hopeful note in his brother's voice, and he didn't want to break this impossible string of luck with Gilbert's good mood.

As it turned out Tino had invited his suitemates at the last book club meeting as well. Ludwig called Angie to let her know he wouldn't be over tonight—he wished he couldn't discern the disappointment in her voice—and waited for Feliciano to finish trying different pairs of ass-hugging jeans in the mirror. As for Ludwig, he had long since stopped worrying much about what he wore to parties.

"Lud, which ones do you like better?" came Feliciano's sing song voice from across the room.

"What you're wearing's fine," grunted Ludwig without looking up from his phone, where he was composing a text to his brother.

_Should be on our way soon. The clothes horse won't stop preening._

Feliciano pouted in the mirror a moment. "I like the others better."

Ludwig rolled his eyes as Feliciano changed back once more.

His phone buzzed with a reply:

_Hey don't rush him, cute people allowed to preen much as they want ;D_

Ludwig snorted and tapped out:

_Don't be creepy :P_

When Feliciano was finally ready (only after a firm "no" from Ludwig on the high heels that had remained in Feliciano's closet ever since he bought them) they joined Herakles and Kiku and headed across campus to the upperclassman suites.

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived. Ludwig followed his suitemates over to the counter with the drinks, looking around for his brother. He spotted him in a corner trying to make conversation with Berwald (unlikely to be a successful endeavor) and, after splashing some vodka and orange juice into a solo cup, made his way over to him.

"Hey, bro!" called out Gilbert, apparently relieved at an excuse to stop talking at Berwald. He gave him a cheeky grin and slung an arm around his shoulder. "Glad you could make it."

"Yeah… Why isn't Matt here?" Ludwig questioned as he shrugged off Gilbert's arm.

"Oh, his parents are in town for the weekend, he and Al are doing something with them tonight. Actually he wanted me to come along, do the whole 'meet the parents' thing, but… I wasn't really feeling it. I mean, it doesn't exactly seem right, y'know, since God knows when I'll get Dad to meet him."

"Oh, right." Ludwig squirmed slightly. Casual references to Gilbert's future with Matthew were not the most comfortable thing for him. Not that he expected his brother to break up with his boyfriend—just, all things considered, it was something he avoided thinking about.

"Lud, there you are!" Feliciano appeared at his elbow. "You disappeared so fast! Oh, hi Gilly!"

"Hey there Feli, you're lookin' smart." Gilbert gave Feliciano an appreciative look up and down that sparked a twinge of jealousy in Ludwig.

"Thanks! Hey Lud, wanna play beer pong?"

Ludwig groaned internally and was about to refuse when Gilbert spoke up.

"You know, I'm a champ at beer pong. What say I take on the two of you?" Ludwig shot his brother a death glare, but Feliciano was already pulling him eagerly towards the table that the last players had just abandoned.

To his surprise, Ludwig found he wasn't such a bad hand at beer pong. Perhaps it made sense though, since he'd always had more than decent hand-eye coordination. Much more to his surprise was that Gilbert was every bit as good as he had said. Sports with balls flying around had always been out of the question for Gilbert, given his vision problems, but apparently when given time to aim at a close target without the danger of getting hit in the face he was more than all right. He'd probably had plenty of chances to practice throughout his college career.

Gilbert managed to land a ball in a cup nearly every turn for the first several rounds, and even splitting the drinks between himself and Feliciano, Ludwig was having trouble finishing so many cups of beer in a row. Gilbert's triumphant smirks lit a competitive spark in him, and soon enough he felt far more invested in the stupid game than he had expected.

Gilbert's winning streak did not last, however. Ludwig scored more often than not, and Feliciano even managed to aim true a few times, and Gilbert, having no partner to share the burden, had soon guzzled more than either of his opponents. His throws got considerably sloppier.

"Oh the fucking—tha' one should count! You saw it Lud, it bounced out! It should count!" Gilbert picked up the offending cup and tried to press it on his brother.

"That's cheating Gil. If the ball doesn't stay in the cup it doesn't count," Ludwig said sternly, buzzed enough not to be self conscious about lecturing his brother on the rules of beer pong.

"I'll drink it!" chimed Feliciano cheerily, quickly snagging the cup and chugging it.

Ludwig sighed as Feliciano grabbed for the ping pong ball with a wide sweep of the hand. "My turn!"

He threw seemingly haphazardly, but by some miracle it landed straight in the farthest cup. "Did you see that! Did you see that, Luddy? I got one!" Feliciano beamed and clung to his roommate's arm.

"Yes, congratulations," mumbled Ludwig, patted his friend absentmindedly on the shoulder.

Gilbert groaned and dutifully downed the cup, beer dribbling from the corner of his mouth. "Fuck, this stuff tastes like piss. We should play with some real stuff sometime, huh? Then I wouln' mind losin' so much."

"No we shouldn't. Some always spills, and that would be too sad a waste of good beer," said Ludwig wistfully.

Feliciano was still hugging Ludwig's arm. "Your turn, Gil."

"Fuck no, I'm done. Considerin', though, that it was two against one, I think we oughtta say I won this one."

Ludwig rolled his eyes. "You challenged us both. Accept the terms you set yourself, at least. We won, fair and square."

"Pssshh." Gilbert swatted him lightly. "Ok, I'll let you think that."

"C'mon Lud, let's dance!" Feliciano started pulling him to the center of the room where a knot of people were moving to the music.

"Oh, okay…" Ludwig followed, glancing back at his brother. But Gilbert was already heading away into the kitchen.

Ludwig danced for a few songs. The beer helped loosen him up, but it wasn't enough to make him a good dancer. He felt awkward dancing next to Feliciano. It wasn't anything like a frat party, where people seemed to need to dance in pairs, but still groups and couples had their own distinct spaces. Ludwig thought dancing in a larger group might be more comfortable, but Herakles and Kiku were getting rather intimate in a corner (Kiku's face was already flushed with drink and he was letting his boyfriend grind on him), so joining them would only make it worse.

Which left Ludwig swaying awkwardly and watching Feliciano pull all the good moves. He seemed to take every song as an opportunity to perform his own personal music video routine, trying to pull Ludwig in as a resistant partner.

Ludwig couldn't help but recall the night of the Halloween party. It was so strange to think that that was the first time he had tasted his brother's lips. Just the thought made his stomach squirm.

But it had also been another first kiss, one that Ludwig tried not to think about for the sake of keeping his living arrangement from being too unbearable. He hoped to God Feliciano really didn't remember anything.

But he did have to wonder what it meant. Given the chance, would Feliciano kiss him again? Did he really like Ludwig that way? God, why had he even allowed it to happen… He could have stopped it. He could have pushed Feliciano away, but something kept him from doing so…

Thinking like that wasn't going to do him any good, though. Anyways, it was probably just Feliciano being his normally flirty self. He'd make out with anything that moved when he was drunk—Ludwig had heard enough stories to know that. So it probably wasn't anything personal.

Even if he was dancing slightly too close.

Ludwig caught sight of Gilbert again. He'd joined the edge of the crowd and seemed to be having some sort of dance-off with Felix.

For some reason Ludwig was always surprised at what a good dancer his brother was. The way he moved his body was almost… elegant. And undeniably sensual. The sway of his hips, the tilt of his shoulders, his hands rubbing up his thighs and sides, touching his neck and hair in ways Ludwig wanted to touch…

"C'mon, dance!"

Ludwig glanced down at Feliciano, startled, and realized he'd stopped moving in his distraction.

"Uh, sorry, I'll be back…" he muttered, and slipped away into the crush of moving bodies. He did feel sort of bad leaving Feliciano alone, but he always seemed able to make new friends on the dance floor easily.

Unsure of what exactly he wanted to do, he approached his brother and tapped his elbow hesitantly.

Gilbert turned and gave him a drunken smirk. "Lud! C'mere, dance with me!" He threw himself into Ludwig's arms, but Ludwig quickly pushed him back. He had to wonder how his brother could still dance so well when intoxicated.

"Uh, I don't feel like… dancing…" he said lamely, not sure what he did feel like doing. He didn't really want to talk to most of the people here and was beginning to wonder if he should just go home.

"C'mon, I'll make ya a drink," offered Gilbert, tugging him into the kitchen. Ludwig still felt plenty buzzed from the beer, but he complied.

Gilbert sloshed some rum and coke into a couple of cups and handed one to Ludwig. " _Prost_ ," he toasted enthusiastically.

They both took a drink, and suddenly Ludwig felt Gilbert's arm snake around his waist. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Gil, maybe you shouldn't do that here," he muttered.

"Mm, come over here." Gilbert pushed his brother back out into the main room, but guided him into the little space between the wall and the beer pong table (which had been abandoned once people got too lazy or drunk to set up more cups).

The corner they were in was far from any light source, and the table hid their bottom halves effectively. Still, Ludwig tensed nervously when Gilbert slid his hand to his butt, squeezing a little through his jeans.

"Gilbert…" he whined in a whisper.

"Shhh _Brüderchen_ , just act natural and no one will notice a thing."

Ludwig shivered at the hot breath on his neck and the use of the familiar pet name. Odd, that it used to be such a pure expression of brotherly affection, and had somehow turned into the most maddening sexual tease, a reminder of everything sick and twisted about them.

But it was true no one seemed to be paying them any attention. Even if someone did glance their way it would look like they were simply lounging, drinking and talking. They couldn't see where Gil's hand was, pressed up against the wall like this.

"So," drawled Gilbert, hand still firmly planted against his brother's butt, "tell me about school. How's things."

Ludwig gave him an odd look. "What?"

"Oh c'mon, we oughtta at least try to look like we're engaged in normal conversation, right?"

Ludwig jumped a little and blushed as he felt Gilbert's hand slip inside the waistband of his jeans. Gilbert's thigh pressed against his and he felt much too warm, despite the open window next to him circulating cooler air into the over-crowded room.

"Natural, Ludwig, natural. Yer not a very good actor, y'know that?"

Ludwig shot his brother a glare, but did his best to relax. It was difficult with Gilbert groping at a buttock, but he didn't have the will power to tell him to stop. He glanced around again, but no one was looking their way.

"Uh, school, right… It's… um… actually, you know, been kind of stressful recently… um, seeing as you, uh, take up so much of my time…"

Gilbert grinned. "Yeah, but you like it. Here, you needa loosen up some more. Drink." He pushed Ludwig's hand with the cup towards his face, and Ludwig obligingly drank.

"Gilbert, why—um…" Ludwig struggled to collect his thoughts. He had questions for his brother, but he wondered if right now might not be the best time to bring them up, given their current… situation.

"Hmm?" hummed Gilbert, tracing a finger along his butt crack through his underwear.

Ludwig sucked in through his teeth. "Gilbert…" he grit out.

"I'm tellin' ya, act normal and no one will notice a thing."

Easy enough for Gilbert to say, leaning against the wall, tilted slightly towards his little brother and grinning easily with his hand down Ludwig's pants.

Ludwig fidgeted. "We shouldn't do this here…"

"Wipe that worried look off your face and drink up. We're fine."

Ludwig gripped his cup and gulped down the rest of his drink. Gilbert slipped his fingers beneath the band of his boxers.

Ludwig had to fight the urge to jump away, but that would definitely draw attention to them. His throat felt too tight. "Gilbert, what are you doing—don't—"

Gilbert was casually surveying the crowd and sipping his rum and coke, while his fingers rubbed between his brother's butt cheeks.

Heat flared in Ludwig's face as he struggled to keep his composure. "Gilbert," he hissed, "seriously, what are you doing, don't—Christ, no, don't—"

The tip of Gilbert's finger pressed determinedly against his entrance. He gasped. His muscles resisted penetration with no form of lubrication, but eventually they gave and the finger sunk in to the first knuckle with a slight burn.

Ludwig made a small strangled noise. "Oh my God, Gilbert, you can't—stop it—oh shit—"

"You really needa work on your acting skills, y'know that? We're having a normal, nice n' private conversation over here in the corner, that's all."

The finger began gently pressing in, then out, then in again, deeper. Ludwig took in deep breaths through his nose, staring very fixedly at a point on the table before them in an attempt to relax his facial muscles. "Why are you doing this?" he hissed.

Gilbert giggled. "Why not?"

"Because we—"

He was abruptly cut off when Tino walked by on the other side of the table and caught sight of them.

"Hey guys! Can I get you something to drink?" he said with a wide, slightly drunken smile, leaning over the table.

Ludwig's heart nearly popped up into his throat, but Gilbert threw him a casual, "Nah, we're good thanks," and Tino went on his way.

Gilbert turned to him. "See? Who in their right mind would think I's fingerin' you under the table, huh?" And with that he pressed his middle finger in beside the first one.

Ludwig swallowed harshly, blinking several times and trying to breathe. "Gilbert… I can't… Jesus…" His insides were going all warm and that odd, half-good half-painful burn was growing where Gilbert's fingers were inside him.

Gilbert pressed harder. "It's nice, in't it. You like it, don' you." But he kept his face neutral. To anyone else his half-lidded eyes would look like a sign of drunkenness, but to Ludwig they appeared purposely seductive.

"I—" He licked his lips and tried again, keeping his eyes forward on the people in the middle of the room. "I… don't…"

Gilbert twiddled his fingers quickly inside him, and Ludwig nearly buckled. That was it. He gripped the edges of the table and used his whole body as a ram against his brother to get out from their tight little corner. Gilbert was forced to pull his hand from his pants and allowed himself to be pushed out from behind the table.

Ludwig took a firm grip of his wrist and started pulling him across the room, mind racing. He wanted, he _needed…_ but _where…_

He quickly ruled out anywhere in the suite. Bathrooms and bedrooms weren't safe. He led Gilbert to the front door and out into the hallway.

"Where we goin'?" whined Gilbert.

"C'mon, you started it," growled Ludwig. Gilbert chuckled at that.

Nowhere in the hallway either. To the stairwell then.

The stairwell was abandoned, but it was still much too open. Ludwig was beginning to despair and think he would have to drag Gilbert all the way back to his dorm to get any relief when he spotted a door ajar near the bottom of the stairs to the next level. He tugged Gilbert towards it.

A janitor's closet. Cramped, but it would do.

He flicked on the light and shoved his brother inside. Gilbert was already fumbling to get his hands back in his pants, so Ludwig quickly shut the door behind them.

Only it wouldn't stay closed.

Ludwig tried turning the handle to get it to latch shut several times, but it kept swinging back open. "Goddammit," he muttered, leaning back against the door to try to keep it from moving.

Gilbert, meanwhile, already had Ludwig's pants undone and was pushing them down to his knees along with his boxers. He leaned in and crushed their mouths together sloppily, hands kneading into his brother's backside.

"Turn around," he breathed.

Ludwig complied, bracing himself against the door. "We can't make too much noise though," he whispered urgently, toeing off a shoe so he could get his pants off one leg and take a wider stance.

Gilbert hummed, but Ludwig wasn't sure if it was an acknowledgement or a reaction to the sight before him as he crouched down and spread Ludwig's cheeks.

When he felt Gilbert's tongue _there_ , slick and probing, Ludwig had a hard time heeding his own warning. He attempted to stifle his grunts against his hand as Gilbert's mouth torturously teased and sucked at his entrance. Legs trembling, he snuck a hand down to stroke himself as Gilbert worked.

All too soon Gilbert decided he was done with that and stood, hastily dropping his own pants and wasting no time in lining himself up with Ludwig's hole.

"Gil," Ludwig panted through the haze of drink and lust that had settled over him, "you haven't… stretched me—"

But just then he felt the jab of penetration. He tensed up, trying to breathe through the initial sting.

Gilbert kept pushing forward though, giving him no time to adjust.

"Ah, gentle!" he hissed as he felt a stab of pain. It was unusual—normally Gilbert was more careful with him. But then, they hadn't had sex while he was drunk yet.

Gilbert stopped long enough to spit down on his shaft and rub it around the stretched muscles a bit, then pressed all the way in.

It burned. Ludwig's mouth was open in a silent protest, unable to breathe for a moment. "Hahhhh… oww…"

Gilbert began to move, slowly. Ludwig grit his teeth and tried to swallow his small whimpers. It hurt, but there was still the familiar feeling of unbelievable fullness, edging towards but not quite crossing over into pleasure.

Gilbert's thrusts became easier and more rhythmic, and slowly Ludwig relaxed into it, letting his hips rock back to meet him. Pleasure coiled low in his stomach as Gilbert's pelvis smacked harder against his backside.

They both panted harshly, retaining just enough presence of mind not to let their groans from their throats. Ludwig's arms shook with the effort of supporting him against the thrusts, so he put his whole forearms against the door, slipping down further.

Ludwig's sense of time was completely gone. He had no idea if they been there in that cramped closet with the cleaning supplies for only a few minutes or a half hour. He was only aware that he kept slipping down the door, that his arms ached, and that Gilbert felt so good filling him up.

He realized now that he was bent so far over he was looking back between his legs at Gilbert's. His brother's pants and boxers were pooled around his ankles, battered old Chucks still on his feet. His knees bent and pale shins moved in time with his thrusts. Ludwig could hear his heavy breathing above him as Gilbert gripped his sides tight, pulling him onto his cock.

Ludwig wasn't near coming, but there was a constant bubble of pressure in his gut that was enough to keep him from minding the ache in his shoulders too much. His face was practically up against the door now, and finally his shaking arms caved and he collapsed into it, shoulder pressing into the door with his neck at an awkward angle and his arms all the way on the dirty cement floor.

Their surroundings made the whole thing surreal. Ludwig kept on rereading the label on a bottle of OxiClean that happened to be at eye level, wishing Gilbert would give him wrap around or vary the pace or just do _more._

Finally, he felt Gilbert's grip tighten and his thrusts turn sloppy as his breathing became more ragged. With a strained groan he stilled, pressed tight against Ludwig's ass, before staggering back and knocking over a few brooms.

Ludwig felt wet, like he needed to wipe himself. But he figured that could wait, at least until his own problem was taken care of. He stood shakily, vision going black for a moment from being upside-down so long. He noticed the door swinging open just on time and pressed a hand against it once more, then turned to lean back on it and look at his brother.

Gilbert was gazing down in the general direction of Ludwig's groin, his own pants still down, dick slowly softening.

Ludwig swallowed and found his voice. "Gil… will you… help me out here?" He gestured vaguely at his own wilting erection.

Gilbert seemed to awaken suddenly and nodded, pulling up his pants and going down on his knees to take his brother's cock in his mouth.

It wasn't the best blowjob Ludwig had ever had—certainly nothing compared to what Gilbert had done to him in the dressing room earlier that week—Gilbert was drunkenly sloppy and using too much spit—but it did the trick. Ludwig grit his teeth and clenched his hands in his brother's hair as he released onto Gilbert's tongue and face.

Gilbert gave a lopsided smile, wiping the seed off his cheek and licking it up. Ludwig relaxed into the door a moment, catching his breath before pulling his pants all the way on and putting on his shoe. He glanced at his brother, still kneeling on the floor, and used his thumb to rub away a drop of come on his chin. He helped him to his feet and gave him a once-over to make sure no signs of sex were too visible.

Gilbert's hands rested on his hips. "That was great," he grinned.

"It was… fine…"

Gilbert's face fell almost comically. "You didn't like it? I liked it."

Ludwig rolled his eyes. "It's fine, Gilbert, let's just, get out of here."

He turned and pulled open the door. Only to find someone on the other side reaching for the handle.

Ludwig's stomach gave a sickening lurch. A hot rush of panic flooded over his skin and he felt a sudden ache in his muscles from tightening them too quickly, as if he were readying himself to spring away.

Mathias stood in front of him, looking nearly as surprised as Ludwig felt. "Oh, uh, were you… getting a mop? To clean up the puke?" His eyes slid over Ludwig's shoulder to Gilbert and his brow furrowed in confusion. "Uh… what… Why… are you guys in here?" he asked with an uneasy laugh.

"Um. Just. Needed a, private moment. To talk to my brother. That's all. Sorry, we're leaving." He brushed quickly past Mathias, pulling Gilbert along behind him.

"Oh, right… yeah don't worry, I'll get the mop…" Mathias called behind them.

They made their way back to Tino's suite. Ludwig's heart was still pounding. He muttered to Gilbert that he was going to the bathroom and headed off past the kitchen.

There was a wait for the toilet, so Ludwig stood in the separate room with the sink and shower, examining himself in the mirror. He always thought his face looked kind of odd when he was buzzed, but as far as he could tell nothing about his appearance ought to give him away.

When the person before him was finished he closed himself in the small side room with the toilet and hastily cleaned himself as best he could, taking the opportunity to relieve himself of all the alcohol he'd consumed. He came back out and was washing his hands when the door to the bathroom opened again.

"Well well, Ludwig, what a coincidence."

Ludwig froze at the voice behind him and dared a glance in the mirror, stomach already twisting in knots.

It was Francis.

"What are you doing here," he asked coldly, letting the water run over his hands.

Francis raised an eyebrow. "What, I'm not allowed at my own friend's party? I may not be close to Berwald but I know him well enough."

Ludwig looked down and turned off the sink, hastily drying his hands. He wanted to just leave, but Francis was leaning in the doorway.

He was about to turn and try to push past him when Francis took a step forward. Ludwig took a step back, into the sink.

He swallowed. "Um, excuse me," he muttered, trying to step around the other man. Francis pushed him back with a hand on his chest.

"You know I've been wanting to talk to you actually, this seems a nice private place to do it."

"Other people will want to use the bathroom." Ludwig didn't meet his eyes.

"Well, at least for the moment we're alone, hm?" Francis gave a disarming smile. "It's just, we have unfinished business, wouldn't you say? I thought we were really getting somewhere when your brother barged in on us so rudely."

Ludwig swallowed again. His throat didn't seem to be working right. "I don't—I think—it is finished business."

"What, you're going to let your brother boss you around like that? Since when does he dictate who you can and can't sleep with? Awfully jealous behavior, don't you think? And a little odd, coming from sibling. I can't imagine how shameful it must feel to have your own brother catch you like that, and to have him lecture you for it—talk about awkward sex talks," Francis said sympathetically.

"No, it's not like that." Ludwig was blushing. "He was… looking out for me."

"Looking out for you? By stopping you in the middle of a completely consensual act? Tsk. Ludwig, look. I know that what we were doing… well, it's common to feel a bit of shame at first for engaging in some… power play, in the bedroom. But I assure you, what we were doing was perfectly normal, just two people doing what they want to feel sexually fulfilled."

Ludwig squirmed, uncomfortable with Francis' frankness.

"You have nothing to feel ashamed of. So stop hiding what you really want from yourself." Francis reached for Ludwig's arm. "It's clear you feel attracted to men, attracted to me—"

"Don't touch me!" Ludwig jerked back, pulse racing. "You're wrong! I have a girlfriend!"

Francis smirked. "Ah, so you've decided to grow yourself a beard. Poor girl."

"She's not—I like her," Ludwig gritted out. Angie was more than just a beard. He did like her.

But… wasn't Francis right, in a way? Hadn't he only said yes to Angie to prove to his brother he could have other relationships? And maybe he did like her, but… maybe she was a "poor girl." She had no clue her boyfriend was fucking his own brother.

"Hmm, what's that? I think I sense some doubt in you, Luddy. You don't mind me calling you that, do you? Anyway, if you grow tired of your new facial hair, I just want you to know you can always come to me… I did really think we had such electrifying chemistry. It would be a shame to let that go to waste."

Francis leaned in, but stopped suddenly, wrinkling his nose. His eyes slid to Ludwig's face, piercing. "You smell like sex. Tell me, is that from your girlfriend?"

Ludwig glanced up, horrified. He tried to keep his cool, but he didn't know what to say. It was too late to deny it, anyway.

Francis' lip curled, and he gave him a quick squeeze on the shoulder. "Right. I'm glad we got to talk. Now if you'll excuse me, I actually came here to take a piss. I'll be seeing you, I'm sure." And he sauntered into the next room.

Ludwig took a deep breath as soon as Francis closed the door. He could hear him going to the bathroom and cleared his head enough to focus on a single thought; _get out of here_.

He practically darted into the hallway and back to the main room, scanning the crowd for Gilbert.

"Luddy, there y'are! I thought you left already!" It was Feliciano, with a big drunken grin on his face. "Where were you? Ya disappeared!"

"Uh, sorry Feli, I think I'm gonna go home, I just have to find Gilbert… have you seen him?"

"Gil? Oh, no, I haven'. You shouldn' leave yet, it's just gettin' good!"

"I'm just really tired, sorry. Get home safe with Herk and Kiku, okay?"

"Oh, okay…"

Ludwig left him to look for Gilbert. He didn't have to go far though, for a moment later a hand was on his elbow and Gilbert was tugging him to the door. "Get yer coat. We're leaving. I just saw Toni," he said darkly.

Ludwig pursed his lips. "Yeah, Francis too."

Gilbert stopped dead and snatched at his brother's shirt. "What?! You saw him? Did he talk to you?"

"Um, well, yeah… he was in the bathroom," Ludwig responded hesitantly.

Gilbert spun on his heel. "Where is he? I'm gonna punch his face in, I'll fucking kill 'im if he laid a finger on you—"

Ludwig grabbed his brother. "No, Gil, let's just go, please."

Gilbert grumbled something about "murder" and "son of a bitch" but acquiesced. They gathered their coats and went out the door, while from across the room Francis watched them with interested eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part: How long can the brothers choose to be happy, with suspicions growing around them?


	10. Chapter 7, Part 2

Ludwig and Gilbert walked back across campus in silence, until Gilbert's phone went off. He fumbled to get it out of his pocket and had to try several times to hit the "answer" button.

"Heya, Mattie."

Ludwig gave his brother a questioning glance.

"No, actually I just left. Had a little… I mean, I had a bit to drink… yeah. No, yeah, sure. I'm headin' over with Lud. No prob, see you in a minute."

Gilbert hung up. "Goin' to Matt's," he grunted.

Ludwig nodded. "Gathered as much."

Neither of them said anything for a little while. Then Gilbert spoke up. "So, what'd… What did Francis have to say?"

Ludwig pursed his lips. "Nothing. Nothing important."

Gilbert gave him a sidelong look. "Ya sure? I mean, what'd he say?"

Ludwig shrugged. "Just…" He swallowed. He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. He was just being… stupid."

Gilbert was silent a moment. Then, "Okay. But he didn't… I mean, did he… He didn't try anything, did he?"

Ludwig shook his head, and Gilbert let it drop.

They reached the dorm, went up to Ludwig's floor, and parted in front of his door.

"'Night Lud," said Gilbert, giving him a quick, ill-aimed peck on the cheek.

"Gil," muttered Ludwig in protest, glancing around. But the hall was empty. "Um, yeah, good night."

Gilbert tottered off towards Matthew's room, and Ludwig entered his own.

He drank two glasses of water in a row, went through an abbreviated bedtime routine, and crawled under his blankets, wondering if he should have bothered to call Angie. He figured she was probably already asleep though.

But sleep had a hard time finding Ludwig. He couldn't get Francis' voice, his leer, out of his head.

_Poor girl… You smell like sex. Tell me, is that from your girlfriend?_

_It's clear you feel attracted to men, attracted to me… I assure you, what we were doing was perfectly normal… it's common to feel a bit of shame… I can't imagine how shameful it must feel to have your own brother catch you like that…_

What did Gilbert think of that? They hadn't spoken about where Gilbert had found Ludwig that night, what he'd been doing. Was Gilbert disgusted by it? By him? Or was he afraid Ludwig had liked it, might want to go back to Francis?

Ludwig tried to remember that night, before… everything that happened with Gilbert. And after Angie, in the bar.

Francis had found him crying. Ludwig hated that. Hated that he'd seen him so weak. And then he'd been weaker still, to follow Francis. What had he expected would happen? He must have known, how things would end up. What else would Francis be taking him home for, other than to have sex? He'd known, and he'd gone willingly.

Well of course he'd known. It wasn't like Francis' behavior was a surprise. It wasn't as if he'd been caught off guard by it.

And Francis hadn't _forced_ him to do anything. He'd done that himself. Hadn't he. And sure, it had been a little uncomfortable, but what more could he expect, going home with a guy like that? He had known what he was getting into. Maybe he wished Francis would have gone about it a little differently—that was it, if he'd just said things differently, been a bit more considerate, it would have been fine. Ludwig just had to make sure that in the future, he stood up for himself a little better. If he didn't like what someone was doing, he would say so. After all, how would Francis even know what he wasn't enjoying, if he hadn't said anything? That was on Ludwig. He should have said something. If he'd just said something, it would have been fine. He could have refused. But he didn't. So Francis had done what he'd wanted. That was the way it worked. He shouldn't expect anything different, so there was nothing to mope about. Just a lesson to be learned.

Maybe, maybe if it had gone differently, he could have enjoyed it.

These thoughts looped over and over in Ludwig's head, until finally, he fell asleep.

…

"Hey boo," said Gilbert when his boyfriend opened the door. He gave him a quick hug and peck on the cheek.

"Hey," responded Matthew with a smile. He closed the door and turned to Gilbert. "We missed you at dinner, you should have come."

Gilbert rubbed his neck. "Sorry, you know I just… I get nervous about the whole meet-the-parents thing. I mean I know your parents know about us and they're fine with it, but I guess… I don't feel ready. And I mean, I feel kinda bad since… I dunno when I can introduce you to my dad."

"Yeah, I know," said Matthew, slipping his arms around Gilbert's waist. "But, you know my parents would love to meet you. There's nothing to worry about, and you can introduce me to your dad when you're—or when he's ready. I don't mind waiting." He buried his nose in Gilbert's neck with a little hum.

Gilbert laughed slightly. "Yer nose's cold."

"Mm, warm it up for me then."

Gilbert leaned down to plant a kiss and playful nip on Matt's nose, making him giggle.

They got ready for bed and snuggled together under Matthew's thick comforter. Gilbert automatically put a protective arm over his boyfriend's waist, enjoying the fresh smell of his strawberry shampoo.

"Hey Gil."

"Hm?"

Matthew turned to face him. "I've been meaning to ask—maybe it's not the best time, but before I forget—have you heard anything more about that paid internship you were talking about? In New York?"

Gilbert blinked, trying to clear his drowsy mind. He hadn't exactly been spending a lot of time thinking about after graduation recently.

"Oh, um, no I haven't heard anything. I mean I don't apply till spring."

"Oh it's not till spring?"

"No. But, I think… I have a good chance. I should be able to get a good recommendation. And I mean, I've studied copyright law a lot, so I think I'd be able to take it on. It's honestly so fucked up in the music industry. That's why I really wanna get this one, actually work on the side of musicians and consumers. It'd be a hell of a lot better than the marketing stuff I'm doing now, anyway. Although, I guess it's been good, getting to work from home, even if they pay me peanuts."

"At least you're getting paid," said Matt wistfully. "Last summer I was reading a thousand pages a week at least and I didn't get anything for it. It's supposed to look good on my resume. But yeah, I've been looking for stuff with publishers in the city, and there are a few options. I just think… you know, it would be nice if we were in the same place."

"Yeah, well, I definitely wanna be in the city. Or, well maybe not Manhattan, but I'm sure we could afford a place in some shady neighborhood in the boroughs, right?"

Matt grinned. "Yeah." He considered Gilbert a moment. "Okay. Thanks, I just wanted to check we're… on the same page. Because I know we've kind of mentioned it, but… I mean of course we can't plan anything for sure yet, but… it's… good to think about that stuff."

"Yeah, of course," said Gilbert softly.

"Okay. Good night Gil." Matthew kissed him briefly on the lips and nestled further into his arms.

Gilbert held him, stroking his hair and thinking.

He did want to work and live in the city. It was the best place to get a start in music production, and the internship he was looking at was a perfect fit. And if it didn't work out, there were other positions he could try for. Of course not all of them were paid, but he would manage, somehow. It would be nice to be with Matt. Then he wouldn't be starting out in a new place all alone. The idea of them sharing a tiny apartment in Brooklyn—or considering rising prices, more likely the Bronx—was oddly… cozy. The domesticity of it. It would be nice. And there would be plenty of couples like them there. Young urban gays. Good bars. A good arts scene. Maybe Gilbert could meet some creative types, join a band again. He hadn't played in a group since freshman year. That was how he met Francis and Toni. But he didn't want to think about them.

He should get his guitar back out. He was rusty.

…But Ludwig. What would he do about Ludwig?

Gilbert closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't need to, yet. It was still a long time till graduation. Well, not a long time. Just over one semester. But still. He didn't need to make any decisions about his brother yet.

Maybe they could just go on as they were. Not fucking every day, obviously, but they'd see each other sometimes. It wasn't too long a train ride to the city; Gilbert could come visit Ludwig weekends and vice versa. Surely Ludwig would be alright with that. After all, they were brothers, not boyfriends. Gilbert would move in with Matt, Ludwig would do his own thing.

So what if he was enjoying their little trysts? It was… a way to connect with his brother. Sort of. Actually, most of the connections between them recently had been of a purely physical nature. But wasn't that what Ludwig wanted? And if Gilbert were being honest with himself, what he wanted as well? Maybe not all he wanted, but still.

He had thought that with Ludwig coming here they would have a chance to be closer again, like they had been before Gilbert had left for school. It had been hard to tell Ludwig about his life in college, to make him really understand. He had kept a lot from him. Which was only natural, while Ludwig was young. Younger, at least. But now… well, they were closer, weren't they? Though not exactly the way he'd imagined it would be.

He sighed deeply and tried to clear his mind. _Don't think about it too much, there's nothing you can do right now. It will all get sorted out, somehow or other. Just sleep, for now._

…

It was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and Ludwig was exhausted. He'd had a paper due that morning, and one due the day before. He was fairly certain they were both terrible. He'd had to pull an all-nighter and planned to only take a nap Monday morning, but he hadn't woken up to his alarm and he'd missed Kirkland's class. Realizing it was too late to do anything and that he really didn't feel like going to his psychology lecture, he crawled back into bed and slept for another couple hours, before spending another night in the library. He'd even turned down Gilbert's offer to find a secluded spot with the car.

Ludwig was torn between collapsing in bed or inviting Gilbert over. Feliciano had just left to catch his bus home for the holiday (his profs had been kind enough to cancel Wednesday classes), so they would have the room to themselves.

Ludwig was piling his laundry into the suitcase he'd take home the next day, still undecided, when he caught sight of a red pair of underwear he did not immediately recognize. He wondered for a moment if some of Feliciano's laundry had gotten mixed in with his, when he remembered. They were Gilbert's.

The underwear he'd taken. He still hadn't washed them.

Ludwig picked them up. He stared at them. He could see the slightly crusty bit where…

It seemed like ages ago. But it had only been a few weeks. How could that be possible. How could he go from pining after his brother, fantasizing about him, jerking off to the thought of him and crying himself to sleep in guilt, to enthusiastically fucking him nearly every day, having to keep a look out, making sure no one else found out, sometimes even having to admonish his brother for his reckless eagerness?

It was surreal. He had been a different person. Someone else had marked those underwear. Between then and now, Ludwig felt he'd experienced the lowest lows and highest highs of his entire short life.

He decided to invite Gilbert over.

The red underwear had joined the rest of his dirty laundry in his suitcase by the time Gilbert arrived.

"Hey _Brüderchen_ , how ya doin'?" asked Gilbert with a grin when Ludwig let him in. This time the pet name seemed just like any affectionate, slightly teasing term used by an older brother.

"Exhausted. I was just going to go to sleep, but… I wanted to see you. Before Angie comes over."

"Manage to get those essays done?"

"Barely. And they're horrible." He groaned. "And I had to miss my classes Monday."

"Kesese, don't get so bent out of shape about it. Everyone skips sometimes. Hell, I think hardly a week goes by I actually make every one of my classes."

Without warning Gilbert pushed his brother against the edge of the bed. "But enough chit chat. We're alone, right? What'd you have in mind?" He grinned, more predatory than friendly now.

Ludwig looked at his brother a moment, growing red in the face. Then he stepped away from him and started to undress.

Gilbert watched him with interest, giving him a quizzical look when Ludwig simply got in bed, naked, and pulled the covers up. But he followed suit and stripped down, then joined Ludwig under the covers.

He immediately went in for a kiss, hands reaching for Ludwig's bare skin under the covers. Ludwig allowed it, but when Gilbert's hand started to slip towards his crotch he caught it and pulled it up to his chest.

Gilbert pulled back and looked at him, confused.

"I don't… want to have sex," Ludwig stated.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "Wait, why not?"

Ludwig bit his lip. "Well, first, the walls are actually paper thin, and I don't know when Herakles and Kiku might be back. I've heard them, uh… going at it, before," he muttered, red. "But, also… well, didn't you say, back when we, started this, we don't have to have sex every time we see each other, right?"

Gilbert blinked. "Oh. Uh, yeah."

"So… I guess I just, wanted…"

Gilbert grinned mischievously. "…Naked cuddles?"

Ludwig blushed and rolled his eyes. "Well. One way of saying it."

Gilbert thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay then." Maybe he had been pushing things too far. He had said that, hadn't he. So why had he suddenly started demanding sex, all the time? Not that Ludwig had been an unwilling partner, but… Sex was easy, he supposed. Easier than trying to actually figure out what the hell they were doing.

But hadn't he just been thinking recently about how his only contact with Ludwig seemed to be physical these days? This was good, wasn't it? Focusing on something else, for a change. After all, they were still brothers. Their relationship didn't depend solely on sex. Ludwig wasn't a fuck buddy. He was his little brother.

Gilbert swallowed harder and said again, more quietly, "Okay."

Ludwig looked at him. "Gil? You okay?"

Gilbert blinked in surprise. "What? Yeah, of course!"

Ludwig didn't look certain. "Oh. You know, I've been wondering… well, ever since… you know, when we had that argument, and then we were smoking together, and I said, we should just, be happy. You've… Have you been happy, Gilbert?" He met his brother's eyes.

The corner of Gilbert's mouth twitched upwards in an attempt at a smile. "Well, yeah. Haven't you?"

"Yes! I mean, it's been…" Ludwig's face reddened. "…Um, an adventure. Don't get me wrong—I've loved, I mean, um—the, uh, sex. It's just… I guess, I wanted… I want other things too. Don't you? Don't you want to do more than just have sex?"

"Well, yeah. I just thought… Yeah, no, you're right."

"But, you're not going to start feeling guilty again, are you?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Lud…" He sighed, looking into space. "Don't worry."

Ludwig was worried. He couldn't help it. But in spite of it, he nodded. "Okay."

Tentatively, he shifted closer to Gilbert, bringing his arms around his waist and slipping a leg between his.

Gilbert looked at him. He smiled a little. "I thought you always didn't like cuddling."

"Well. Maybe I've changed."

"Yeah. You have," said Gilbert, reaching up to stroke his hair back from where it had fallen in his face. He seemed to be looking through him, remembering.

"What are you thinking about?" whispered Ludwig.

"Hmm? Oh. Uh, heh, actually, you'll laugh."

"Yeah? What?"

"Ok. Um, you remember that winter we got so much snow? You were really little though, like only two or three. It was one of our first winters in the States. And the snow was just about as tall as you. We went outside to go sledding on the hill and—" He laughed. "Oh my god, you were the cutest thing. I think that picture of you on the fridge must be from then. Where you're so bundled up you look about as wide as you are tall. You could hardly move in so many layers. So when we were climbing back up the hill you'd be trying to wade through the snow, but you kept falling over and couldn't get back up. And so every few seconds behind me I'd hear this little voice calling out 'Gilber! Gilber!' 'cause that's how you said my name back then, do you remember? And I'd have to come back and help you up on your feet, and then we'd keep going, and after a couple more steps it was 'Gilber! Gilber!' again, kesese. I don't know why I didn't just walk behind you. Maybe I was too impatient. I guess I coulda pulled you in the sled but that would have been too much work. I think I thought it was kinda funny seeing you fall in the snow, too."

Ludwig smiled. "Jerk."

Gilbert chuckled. "Jesus that was a long time ago."

"Yeah. I do think I remember that though. Or maybe I've just heard you tell the story before."

"Could be."

Gilbert smiled, looking into the distance again. "You remember 'monster' though, right?"

"Oh God, how could I forget? Talk about childhood trauma," Ludwig groaned.

"Kesesese, oh my God that was the best. Your face when I'd jump out at you—priceless."

"It was the worst! Because I never knew when you were going to do it! I'd be minding my own business, or even looking for you, and then suddenly—out of nowhere! It was terrifying! I started getting scared of just walking past closets because of that. I think you must have taken years off my life. My poor heart."

"Yeah," Gilbert giggled. "But I made up for it with the elephant rides, right?"

"Haha, oh yeah—maybe almost. Why were you an elephant again?"

"I dunno, 'cause you told me to be! You probably saw something in a movie, like that live action _Jungle Book_ you used to love—and you wanted to ride an elephant too. Sheesh, the things I did for you. You know it's not easy to crawl around with a five-year-old on your back when you're using one arm as a pretend trunk."

"Well, I appreciate the effort. I seem to remember you forcing me into your own make believe games more often than the other way around though. You remember 'kidnapped'?"

"Yeah, and I always saved you! You should be grateful!"

"I dunno, I think that was just an excuse to tie me up and leave me in the closet for hours."

"It wasn't hours. Lies and slander."

"Okay, but you did intentionally leave me in the forest that one time."

"I've apologized for that! Like, a million times! I don't know what I was thinking, I was nine years old and dumb."

"It was cold. And getting dark." Ludwig gave his brother an accusing look, but amusement twitched at his lips.

Gilbert shoved him playfully. "I'm sorry, really! It was all in the name of science, though. I was doing an experiment."

"What on earth could you possibly find out from that?"

"Um, see what happens when I leave Ludwig alone in the forest at night?"

"Psh, very nice. You're lucky I got hungry and decided to come back, and that I didn't actually get lost. And that Dad never found out."

"Yeah… but then I made you pizza, remember? I think I felt bad pretty much right away. I came home and turned on the TV and then I started worrying you'd get eaten by wild animals or something. I'm sure I would have come and got you eventually."

"Sure, sure. Actually I'm kind of surprised Dad left us home alone that young. And I never got to eat the pizza. You nearly burned down the house with it."

"Okay, I didn't 'nearly burn down the house.' I just… approximated the cooking time."

Ludwig laughed. "Yeah, and I remember you yelling at me to get a glass of water."

"Well it worked, didn't it?"

"Except for the smoke stain on the ceiling."

"Ugh, that fucking smoke stain. Dad never would have found out if it weren't for the smoke stain. Well, he might have found the burnt pizza in the trash. But man, he was so pissed. I wasn't allowed to use the oven; I was supposed to just put leftovers in the microwave for dinner, but no, I was trying to be nice to you by getting the frozen pizza out, and what'd I get for it."

Ludwig gave his brother a sympathetic smile. "Well, it's the thought that counts. Even if you did leave me out in the woods first."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, but smiled.

Ludwig looked at his face, the momentary contentment in his eyes, his silvery hair fanning out on the pillow. It was a bit longer than usual. Gilbert would probably get it trimmed soon.

Ludwig pressed his face into the crook of his neck and sighed. He was glad when Gilbert's hand rubbed lightly over his back, as if to say this was okay, that he liked this too.

Gilbert tilted his head to rest it against his brother's. "Y'know, I miss the dogs. It was always nice to be able to go home to them."

Ludwig hummed in agreement. Their last dog, Aster, had died while he was a senior in high school.

"I want a new pet," mused Gilbert. "You know, I've actually been thinking of asking for one for Christmas. It would just, be really nice. I mean, having something that depends on you, that you're responsible for… It—I dunno. Could be… good motivation. And company. I dunno if Dad would want to get me one, though. Probably thinks I can't even take care of myself so I'd let it die or something."

Ludwig caught the resentful tone of his brother's voice. "It's your decision, though. You're an adult. Maybe he wouldn't pay for it, but… you have enough money for pet food, right? And maybe you could adopt from a shelter or something. That can be cheap sometimes."

"Maybe…" Gilbert bit his lip. "I mean, I've been thinking what kind of pet I'd like… something that's not too hard to care for, and not too big, so it can stay in my room mostly… I was thinking maybe a bird."

Ludwig smiled at that. "You did always like birds."

"Yeah… remember when I wanted to be an ornithologist?"

"Haha yeah, you made me go bird-watching with you. It was one of the most boring things I've ever done."

"It was just a bad day for it! And well… it didn't help that I can't see that great even with binoculars. But birds are great, man. I think I definitely want a bird. But like, a little one. I don't want its wings to be clipped, that's cruel. And some birds really aren't meant for captivity. I want a bird that can do well on it's own and doesn't need much space."

Ludwig remembered something and snorted. "Are you going to name it Gilbird?"

Gilbert gave him a confused look, but then remembered a moment later. "Oh my God I did say that, didn't I? Kesesese well of course! Obviously that's the most awesome name possible for a bird."

They both laughed. Ludwig was happy. Happy to see his brother happy, happy to feel the warmth of his body, their smooth skin brushing together.

He wanted it to always be like this. He wanted to show Gilbert that this could work, that they could still be brothers, but also more. That they could laugh and reminisce and tease each other, even if they'd just had sex, even if it led to making out, even if they were naked together under the covers.

He leaned in and planted a kiss on his lips, lingering long enough to breathe in a lungful of the musky-sweet scent that was so uniquely _Gilbert_.

He drew back. Gilbert looked at him through his feathery white lashes. Ludwig had always loved how delicately they framed his eyes.

Gilbert brought a hand up to Ludwig's cheek and drew him in for another kiss, harder than before. His hands smoothed over Ludwig's broad shoulders, his muscled back. The skin of their hips and groins touched.

In that moment, Gilbert wanted Ludwig in a way he hadn't before. He didn't just want sex for the sake of orgasmic bliss, he didn't want it as a cop out for talking about feelings, he didn't want it just to make Ludwig happy, nor to feel that rush from knowing what power he held over his brother. He just wanted to hold him close, love him, experience him, this beautiful boy his little brother had grown into and who still, inexplicably, loved him so much. Ludwig knew him better than anyone else, and somehow he still loved him. Saw all his flaws, but still saw someone worth loving. Knew his weaknesses, most of his embarrassing secrets, everything Gilbert had tried to hide from partners in the past and still hid from Matthew. But Ludwig accepted him, wanted him even. And Gilbert felt sure, as sure as he ever dared to feel about anything, that Ludwig wouldn't leave him. Nobody else was a given. But Ludwig was safe, the safest, surest thing Gilbert had ever had. His little brother was strong, and warm, and Gilbert wanted to wrap himself in that warmth and forget about everything besides the two of them for just a little while.

Their hands were roaming, their kiss becoming breathless. Gilbert moved his mouth down Ludwig's jaw line to his neck and reached around to knead his fingers into his wonderfully round, tight bottom, making his intentions known.

But Ludwig drew back. "I… Gilbert, I want to, I really do, but…" He sighed.

Gilbert quickly withdrew his hands and looked down, abashed.

Ludwig felt bad. He wished he could take advantage of this moment, of Gilbert's eagerness. It was thrilling to feel wanted by his brother. "It's just… Angie will probably be over soon… I told her she could spend the night. I mean, it's the last night before break so she really wanted to… But we'll be home soon! We'll have all of break together!" He pleaded with his eyes for Gilbert to understand.

Gilbert shrugged, face carefully nonchalant. "Yeah, 'course. No problem." He rolled out of the bed and instantly Ludwig missed his heat next to him.

Gilbert dressed, and Ludwig pulled his boxers on.

"Okay _Brüderlein_ of mine, I will come by at 3:30 tomorrow with the car to get you. Right?"

Ludwig nodded. "Right."

Gilbert clapped him on the shoulder. "'Kay, see you then," and with that he left.

Ludwig suddenly regretted inviting Angie over. He wished Gilbert could have stayed. But they would have all of break, like he'd said. And it was only fair to see Angie. Not that he was only doing it to be fair. He liked Angie. She usually had a way of making him feel better, helping him see things more clearly, even if she didn't really know what the problem was.

It was indeed only a few minutes later that his girlfriend arrived. His exhaustion had hit him hard after Gilbert had left, so he apologetically explained how sleep deprived he was, and that he would have to get to bed soon.

"That's alright, I could use an early night myself," she said brightly, and went to get ready in his restroom.

"Hey, Ludwig," called Angie from the bathroom in the entryway, "is it alright if I use your toothbrush? I didn't bring one."

Ludwig stiffened. "Erm—" He'd really rather she not. He never used hers, when he was the one staying over. He valued personal hygiene, but he did not count sharing toiletry items as hygienic. "There should be extras still in the package under the sink! You can take one of those," he called back.

"Oh, okay, thanks!"

He hoped she wouldn't expect him to take down simple personal boundaries like that. Didn't she think that was gross? Was it normal for couples to do that?

He arranged the blankets on his bed, making sure it was impossible to tell two people had been there earlier, and then joined Angie to brush his teeth.

They got into bed, Ludwig feeling slightly guilty that Angie was now lying exactly where Gilbert had just a bit ago. Except she was in a t-shirt and underwear, rather than naked.

"Hey, don't I get a goodnight kiss?" she teased.

Ludwig obligingly kissed her. She tasted different from Gilbert. Minty. Well, that was from the toothpaste.

It was pleasant though. Angie threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer, and Ludwig ventured to reach down to the curve of her hip. He was struck, not for the first time, by how different from Gilbert's body hers felt against him. Soft and pliable, rather than all hard planes and sharp angles.

_You smell like sex. Tell me, is that from your girlfriend?_

The words entered unbidden into Ludwig's mind. He felt something stubborn tighten in his stomach, and he kissed Angie harder. He did like her. He liked her, and he liked kissing her.

_Poor girl… If you grow tired of your new facial hair... you can always come to me…_

Angie rubbed a hand down his bare chest and stomach, brushing her fingertips along the band of his boxers. Ludwig tightened his grip on her hip, deepening the kiss, trying to block out Francis' words, his face, prove him wrong.

Angie's hand slipped down to feel for his member through the cloth of his boxers. Ludwig's breaths came short, his pulse quickened, skin flushed. Then, Angie's fingers slid under the elastic and wrapped around the base of his flaccid cock.

Ludwig's whole body stiffened. Suddenly, he was not in his own room, his own bed, it was not Angie kissing him, feeling him. The hand touching him so intimately was larger, rougher, scratchy lips were pressing down on his mouth, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, he couldn't open his eyes, because if he did _he_ would be there, smirking at him with his cool blue eyes—

"Lud? Ludwig, are you okay?"

Ludwig's eyes shot open. He felt sweaty, and as if someone had punched him in the gut.

Angie was looking at him with concern in her eyes. Her hand wasn't in his boxers anymore; it rested lightly against his side.

"…Is everything alright? You went all tense… I'm sorry, I thought—"

"No!" said Ludwig quickly. "No, it's fine! Uh, sorry…" He sat up slightly, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of unwanted hands and eyes on his body. "Just… um. I'm really tired, I don't think… I don't want to do this now."

Angie was silent a moment. She started again, softly, "I'm sorry, I was rushing things, I shouldn't have pushed it, I just, it seemed like you… I thought…"

Ludwig glanced down at her guilty face. He knew it must have seemed to her as if he were eager at first. He couldn't blame her.

"It's okay, really, don't worry," he said gently, lying back down next to her. "Let's just, get some sleep." He pulled her closer, partly to assure her he wasn't angry, partly to assure himself of the solid reality of the person next to him.

"Okay." She pecked his cheek lightly. "Good night, Ludwig."

"Good night." He yawned, realizing again just how much his body needed sleep.

But he couldn't find sleep for a while. He kept on thinking about what had just happened. Why had he thought of Francis? He hadn't been able to control it, and that frightened him. But that had never happened when Gilbert touched him like that… what had triggered it this time?

Furthermore, was he really ready for that sort of thing with Angie? It certainly wouldn't be unusual, after seeing each other for a couple of weeks. She probably expected it.

But tomorrow he'd be going home with Gilbert, and he wouldn't have to think about it for a while, at least.

…

In Western Lit the next day, he didn't speak. He avoided Kirkland's eyes. He hadn't given him any explanation for his absence on Monday. He knew the professor was probably used to student not showing up with no excuse, but Ludwig felt as if he had personally let Kirkland down. He seemed to think highly of Ludwig, and he didn't want to ruin that.

He determined to make up for it after break. He would got to Kirkland's office hours to ask about what he'd missed, and tell him how chaotically busy he'd been, and apologize. Surely Kirkland would appreciate that.

When class was done he left quickly with Angie. They headed towards the walkway where they would part ways to their respective dorms. Ludwig still had to finish packing.

"Yeah, luckily my evening class was canceled, so Gilbert's coming to pick me up soon," he was telling Angie. "We should be home for dinner. It's about a three hour drive when roads are good, but there'll probably be holiday traffic."

"Hey, Ludwig!"

Ludwig looked over and saw that Mathias had caught up with them. He could feel his face heat up at the memory of how Mathias had found him and Gilbert at the party last weekend. He hoped the blush wasn't too visible.

"Hi Mathias," he said somewhat stiffly.

"Hey Angie," Mathias grinned, and Ludwig felt a twinge of defensiveness, thinking of how Mathias had expressed some interest in her in the past.

"Hey," said Angie casually. Ludwig remembered Angie stating her opinion on Mathias before though, and felt a little better.

Mathias turned back to Ludwig. "So that was some party at Berry's, right?"

Ludwig wrinkled his nose. He didn't think Berwald would appreciate Mathias' nickname. He nodded noncommittally, hoping Mathias wouldn't pursue the subject.

"Shame we didn't get to talk; we missed you at lit group last week."

Ludwig had to try not to snort. 'Lit group.' So that's what he was calling it now. "Uh, yeah, sorry."

"I guess you were pretty busy at the party though. What _were_ you doing with your brother in that closet, anyway?"

Ludwig flushed and swallowed harshly, struggling to keep his features composed. Angie was giving him a quizzical look.

"Uh—I told you, we just needed to speak alone," he said as evenly as possible.

"And you had to go all the way into the janitor's closet to do it? Like, the stairwell wasn't private enough?" Mathias laughed. "Gilbert looked pretty plastered, too. I dunno what kind of conversation you could've had with him."

Ludwig tried not to panic. It wasn't as if Mathias or Angie would jump to the correct conclusion, just from that. "Yeah, well… I was pretty drunk too, I guess the janitor's closet made sense with my… drunk logic. And our conversation is our own business, thanks," he added, trying to sound indignant. After all, Mathias was being nosy.

"Haha, I guess you and your bro get into some pretty crazy drunken shenanigans. Hey, I gotta ask—is it true you guys _kissed_ at Alfred's Halloween party? Felix and Toris said so, but I didn't see it—you know, don't wanna go spreading false rumors."

Ludwig blanched. He'd thought everyone had forgotten about that. He wished he could deny it, but that would just make things worse. Enough people had seen. He couldn't pretend it hadn't happened. And he had a feeling Mathias believed it—he probably just wanted to hear it from Ludwig's own lips, and in front of Angie.

"It's not like that!" he burst out, hoping he didn't sound too desperate. "It was—just a stupid accident."

"Dude, how do you kiss your brother by accident?" Mathias shot him an odd look.

Ludwig felt ready to explode from mortification. "I didn't kiss him, he kissed me! Look, it wasn't—Gilbert was really high. He couldn't tell me from the next person. I was just trying to keep him out of the way and calm him down, and suddenly he planted one on me. Okay? No big deal. It was awkward and gross and I'd rather forget about it."

Mathias twisted his lip in what might have been disappointment. "Yeah, I figured it had to be something like that. Dude, that sucks, must be embarrassing to have people spreading that story around."

 _Spreading that story around?_ Were people really spreading it around, or was Mathias playing with him?

"Well anyway, you guys have a happy Thanksgiving, right? See you!" And with that Mathias walked off.

Ludwig stood stiffly next to his girlfriend, afraid to look at her.

Angie laughed nervously to break the awkward silence. "Wow, what a jerk. That was so rude, right?" But she didn't sound certain.

"Yeah… he's not exactly the most tactful tool in the shed." He rubbed his neck.

"Um… so you really did kiss your brother? Or, I mean, he kissed you?" Angie sounded uncomfortable. "Someone—mentioned that, when I told them I was seeing you… I didn't think it was true."

Ludwig blinked at her. _Christ, how many people are talking about this behind my back?_

She caught his shocked expression and was quick to add, "It's okay though, I understand now, that must have been awful! People are just blowing it out of proportion, like they always do. I'm sure they'll forget about it soon. Although, um… hanging out in closets with your brother… might… not be the best way to stop rumors…"

Ludwig's mouth was dry. "Rumors?"

"Well—God, I'm not suggesting anything, it's just—you know how people are…"

Ludwig wanted to challenge her, say _I don't know, how are people?_ But he didn't dare. Not when they were scraping so dangerously close to the truth.

Instead he stared dumbly at Angie.

She sighed. "Sorry, forget I said anything. Don't worry about it, it will all blow over."

"…Yeah. Um. I have to go."

"Oh, right. Well. Have a nice Thanksgiving! See you when we get back."

Ludwig realized he must have sounded brusque, so he hugged her. "Right. You too, have a good break."

That seemed to make Angie a little happier. "Call me," she said with a little smile.

"Of course." He smiled back, then gave her a quick peck on the lips.

They parted ways. When Ludwig turned back to look at her, he saw she was lighting up a cigarette. He realized he hadn't noticed her smoking much recently. He wondered if she was really trying to quit, or if she just tried not to smoke around him.

When he got back to his dorm he packed his things quickly. Gilbert texted him to let him know he'd be there in a few minutes, and Ludwig brought his bags down to the small parking lot behind his building.

When Gilbert pulled up Ludwig threw his suitcase in the back seat and climbed in the passenger's side.

Gilbert grinned over at him through his sunglasses, and Ludwig felt the uneasiness that had settled in his stomach dissipate slightly.

"Buckle up little bro, we're goin' home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Thanksgiving, at last. The brothers do have time together, but now there's their father to watch out for.


	11. Chapter 8

"Hey Lud, you ready to take the wheel?"

Ludwig glanced up as Gilbert pulled onto an off-ramp leading to a rest stop. "Yeah, sure." He looked guiltily over at his brother. "You know, it's not that long a drive home, I could do the whole way if you just asked." He knew Gilbert got headaches from straining his eyes on the road.

"Nah," Gilbert waved him off. "I'm lucky to be able to drive at all, but what's the use if everyone else does it for me? I like getting to drive every once in a while."

He pulled into a parking space and they hopped out of the car to use the restroom before switching places.

Just as they were exiting the small service center Gilbert reached out and caught Ludwig's hand in his. Startled, Ludwig gave his brother a confused look, only to be met by two lips pressing warmly to his own.

Ludwig stumbled and practically fell over backwards. "Gah! What—what do you think you're doing?!" he hissed.

Gilbert smirked playfully, keeping his hand clasped tightly around Ludwig's. "No one around here knows we're brothers," he murmured.

Ludwig glanced nervously around the sparsely occupied parking lot. He caught sight of a woman down the sidewalk glaring daggers at them as she guided two small children into a mini-van.

Ludwig swallowed and tugged Gilbert back towards their car. "Yeah, but… we're still two guys. And we're not exactly in a liberal urban haven at the moment."

Gilbert snorted. "Just figured we should take advantage of an opportunity when it presents itself. I mean, how often are we gonna be able to kiss out in the open like this? And I mean, doesn't it… feel sort of exciting? Y'know, bad? Like, anyone watching just thinks they're seeing a gay couple kissing; may or may not be shocking. But to think they're really unwitting witnesses to _incest_ …"

Ludwig wrinkled his nose as he let go of Gilbert's hand to get in the car. "You're such an exhibitionist."

As they both got in and closed the doors behind them, Ludwig added, "And anyway, they're not witnessing _incest_ ; incest as a noun is a sexual act. It's just an _incestuous_ kiss, used as an adjective."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "How you have a girlfriend is beyond me."

Ludwig stiffened slightly. "I believe she would call my penchant for correct grammar 'endearing'."

Gilbert raised his eyebrows, but didn't answer. Ludwig was grateful; he didn't really relish the idea of discussing Angie with his brother now, when this weekend was supposed to be for them, together, no one else to worry about.

Except, of course, their father. But Ludwig would worry about that when the time came.

…

Somehow, the sight of his vinyl-sided, suburban childhood home felt different to Ludwig. And yet, also the same. Too much the same. As if it had been replaced with an exact replica.

He shook the thought from his head as he pulled into the drive. Wasn't that someone's description of insanity? The feeling that everything has been replaced with an exact replica…

It wasn't to the point that Ludwig was worried he was becoming a paranoiac, but it was still strange. As if he'd somehow betrayed the house that had held him and nurtured him in his innocence. It had seen him and Gilbert grow up together. And now, there was something foreign about its naïve windows looking blankly out onto the street.

But Ludwig quickly put that from his mind as he gathered his bags and headed to the door.

Their father greeted them in a kitchen apron and gave his cursory one-armed hugs. "Come on in, dinner's almost ready."

Gilbert smelled the aromas coming from the kitchen and his face lit up. "Käsespätzle!"

His father nodded. "As usual, night-before-Thanksgiving meal."

Gilbert and Ludwig took their things up to their rooms, then returned downstairs to set the table as the steaming dish of Gilbert's favorite cheese noodles was brought out.

"Hey…" said Gilbert at he thoughtfully chewed on his first mouthful. "Why do you always make Käsespätzle? I mean, it's a southern dish, right?"

Their father raised an eyebrow. "You've been eating my cooking all these years and only thought to ask this now?" he said, not without a hint of humor.

Gilbert shrugged. "I only just thought of it."

"Well, as for why I make it so often, it's because you like it. In fact when you were little it was one of the few things you would eat. You were incredibly fussy."

Gilbert reddened slightly and gave an apologetic smile. "Oh."

"It was a recipe from my mother; remember she was Bavarian. It was my father that was from the north and decided we should all live in Hamburg."

Ludwig had stopped eating, listening with interest. His father rarely spoke about the grandparents that had died before Ludwig was born.

"Käsespätzle, for whatever reason, was one of the few things I ever learned to make, so we had it a lot when you were little, before I started to branch out. It was rather difficult back then, because your mother had done all the cooking in your first couple of years."

Dead silence fell over the table. Both Ludwig and Gilbert stared at their father, who calmly sliced his potato and continued to eat, eyes on his food.

Ludwig couldn't remember the last time their father had mentioned their mother.

Both brothers were almost afraid to breathe. But then quite suddenly the tense atmosphere was dispelled when their father spoke again.

"I hope you boys are prepared to help out in the kitchen tomorrow," he said, as though nothing unusual had just transpired.

Gilbert nodded, as if coming out of a trance. "Of course. And… Romeo will be bringing something too, right?"

For many years now their father's friend Romeo had been joining them for Thanksgiving, as he had no family of his own in the country. With their shared immigrant background, it had always seemed natural for them to celebrate the American holiday together, in a slightly atypical way—dishes from their homelands, no turkey.

"Yes, of course. Actually, he's also bringing along another guest."

The brothers' ears perked up. They rarely had more than four gathered around their Thanksgiving table.

"Some relative, a distant cousin I think, from Italy. He's taking a short vacation in the States and decided he'd stop in and visit Romeo for a couple of days. Apparently the last time Romeo saw him was at a family reunion in Rome when he was just a toddler."

Gilbert's brow furrowed. "When he was a toddler? How does he remember?"

Their father sighed. "Not when Romeo was a toddler; when this relative, what's his name, was a toddler. He mentioned his name to me… Something with an 'L' I think. Anyway, he's 23 now."

Gilbert's face brightened at that. "Do you know if he speaks good English?"

"Well, I would imagine it's decent, at least."

Ludwig couldn't bring himself to be quite as excited as his brother. Undoubtedly having a new face at the table would be interesting; he just hoped that he wouldn't steal Gilbert's attention for the whole evening.

When he realized how possessive and jealous that sounded, Ludwig mentally slapped himself. _It will be fine. It will be fun._

"…which brings me to another point," his father was saying. "I have something to tell you, that I'm afraid I've been keeping secret a while as a surprise. I will warn you now, it's to be a large part of both of your Christmas presents."

Now Ludwig's full attention was back on his father.

The man cleared his throat. "Romeo has been generous enough to invite us to come with him to Italy this Christmas, to spend the holiday with his family in Rome."

Gilbert's mouth fell open, eyes wide with disbelief and delight.

"As I understand it, it's one of their bigger Christmas years, so his whole extended family will be there. And we're invited to take part in as little or as much as we like. We'll be staying in the apartment of a close family friend who's away for the holiday."

Ludwig didn't know what to say, but Gilbert quickly spoke up, barely containing his enthusiasm: "How long will we be staying?"

"Well," their father spoke reservedly, "seeing as we have a free place to stay, and I have some extra vacation days saved up, I figured we could afford to extend our trip to January 13th. That still gives you boys a few days to adjust from the jet lag before your classes start again."

"So we're going to be in Rome, for three whole weeks?" asked Gilbert gleefully.

Their father nodded. "Approximately."

"Oh my God! This is fantastic!" exclaimed Gilbert. "This is gonna be the best Christmas ever! I bet it's not even that cold down there. And pasta and pizza and gelato every night…"

Ludwig laughed, his brother's enthusiasm catching. They had never been to any Mediterranean countries, though Gilbert had long expressed his desire to go to Italy for their annual European vacation, just once.

"Watch out," Ludwig shot at his brother, "they might make you pay extra if you come back twice as heavy as you were going."

"Oh ha ha," drawled Gilbert, sticking his tongue out.

"Now boys," admonished their father, and for a moment Ludwig was incredibly content with the comfortingly familial scene: him and his brother joking, their father ever the stern referee.

They spent the rest of dinner discussing what they most wanted to see and do in the Italian capital, and their father, unusually talkative, related some of his experiences in the city when he had last been there in the 80s.

After dinner their father retreated to his study; apparently even on the day before Thanksgiving he couldn't take a break from his all-important emails. Ludwig and Gilbert moved to the couch in the den to watch some TV.

They had been watching some mindless crime show for a few minutes when Ludwig realized something. He reddened slightly, and leaned towards his brother.

"Hey Gilbert…"

"Hm?"

"Uh, you know, it's kind of funny…" He laughed nervously.

Gilbert glanced at him. "Spit it out."

Suddenly Ludwig wasn't sure if he should tell him. It seemed embarrassing; maybe Gilbert would be too weirded out.

But now Gilbert was looking at him expectantly, and there was nothing for it.

"Um, this is where we were… just like this, sitting on this couch, when I… well, in my first—I mean, this was the set up, in my mind, when I first imagined, you know. Being with you." By the time he finished he was barely mumbling and had slid down a few inches on the couch, red as a beet. He stared at the TV, too nervous to look at his brother's face.

But finally Gilbert's silence forced him to glance up. Gilbert was simply sitting there with a somewhat surprised smirk on his face.

"Really? Here? Well that's pretty boring. Well, maybe not, I mean, the place we grew up together and all… hm, kinda kinky. You pervert." He nudged his brother playfully.

Ludwig gave a relieved laugh and shrugged. "I don't know why."

Gilbert looked at him a moment, then leaned in. "Come to my room tonight," he whispered, even though the TV was loud enough to drown out their voices to anyone outside the room.

Ludwig felt a slight shiver run through him and nodded.

He allowed himself to inch a little closer to his brother on the couch, so their thighs touched just barely. Gilbert threw an arm over the back and rested his hand, warm and soft, on Ludwig's neck. He played absently with the hairs at his nape, making Ludwig's eyes droop and his head loll back into the touch.

But then their father appeared in the doorway. They sprang apart—or rather, Ludwig quickly straightened up and shifted slightly away so they weren't touching, and Gilbert rested his hand innocently on the back of the couch. Still, they were sitting unusually close to each other.

They both looked up at their father, unsure what he had seen. Gilbert was a good actor, but Ludwig could only hope his guilt didn't show on his face.

Their father hesitated a moment, as if sensing something amiss; but the moment passed, and he said quite normally, "You two should get to bed, we'll have an early start tomorrow."

Gilbert nodded and stood. "Right. 'Night, Dad. Thanks for the good dinner. And Rome."

Ludwig smiled. "Yes, thank you. It's really… exciting." He felt slightly lame for not coming up with a better word.

Their father nodded with a slight smile and waved them off. "Yes, yes. Good night boys."

Later, when Ludwig was sure he'd heard his father go into his bedroom downstairs, he stole down the hallway to his brother's room. Closing the door quietly behind him, he crawled into his brother's bed as Gilbert moved over for him.

Gilbert pulled him to his chest immediately, peppering his face and neck with fervent kisses.

They made love as quietly as they could. There was something intense, urgent, in their panting breaths that longed to turn into screams and moans. Gilbert rocked into him hard, clutching Ludwig's shoulders and hips hard enough to bruise.

When they were finished Gilbert collapsed against him. Slowly, he brought a hand up to Ludwig's chest and lightly traced his pectorals with one finger.

"I've been wanting to do this in a bed again. Been a while," he mumbled.

Ludwig hummed in agreement. He was transfixed by Gilbert's fingers making their way along his collarbone, up his neck, and along his jaw.

Gilbert propped himself up to look down at his brother. His fingers went to Ludwig's brow, felt the contours of his nose, and pressed against his soft, dry lips.

Ludwig didn't move. The way Gilbert was touching him… It made him so unbelievably happy. Yet at the same time, it filled him with an unspeakable yearning; it was almost mournful, like he was catching a glimpse of something beautiful and perfect that he could never truly possess.

They slept that night skin to skin, naked in each other's arms.

…

Thanksgiving day was a blur of activity in the kitchen, as usual. There was Bratwurst, sauerkraut, mushrooms, fresh salad, and potatoes to be prepared, and of course Ludwig's province, dessert: Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte, his favorite chocolate-cherry cake.

They'd started plenty early though, and so by the time their guests arrived Ludwig was putting the finishing touches on the cake, and the brats were on the grill (their father was known to grill outdoors even with a foot of snow on the ground).

Ludwig heard Romeo's familiar voice in the entryway as he greeted his father. Then another voice: lower, rougher, and even though Ludwig couldn't make out the words he could hear the lilt of a heavy accent.

He wiped his hands quickly and went to great the guests with Gilbert.

"Ludwig! My God Sebastian, your son is turning into a strapping young lad!" Romeo beamed and clapped Ludwig on the shoulder.

Ludwig smiled, even though the man had been saying the exact same thing since Ludwig was twelve. "Good to see you, Romeo."

Romeo brought him into a bear hug that Ludwig had long since learned was useless to try to avoid. He simply braced himself and prepared to have all the air squeezed from his lungs.

Finally Romeo released him and turned to Gilbert. "Gilbert, my boy, come here—it's so good to see you."

Gilbert grinned. "Hey Romeo." He went to get his hug willingly; he'd taken to Romeo much better than Ludwig over the years.

Then Romeo stepped aside, and for the first time the brothers got a good look at the newcomer.

Sharp eyes stared at them from a well-sculpted face. His skin was olive tan and dark brown hair fell elegantly to his cheekbones; with his partially unbuttoned shirt and slim waist he looked like he could have been a model, if only he were about a foot taller.

Romeo's smile widened. "Ludwig, Gilbert, I'd like you to meet Lovino. Lovi, these are the fine young men I was telling you about."

Ludwig blushed faintly at that.

Lovino's glance took in the brothers quickly, pausing for just a fraction of a second on Gilbert—something Gilbert was all too used to. But then he smiled disarmingly and stepped forward, offering a hand. "Delighted to meet you."

Gilbert shook his hand firmly, grinning now. "Glad to have you here. I'm Gilbert."

Lovino turned to Ludwig expectantly. "And you must be Ludwig?"

"Yes. Uh, welcome to America." Ludwig held out his arm stiffly.

Lovino shook his hand. "Ah yes, thank you."

Their father spoke up. "Ludwig, why don't you take our guests' coats and hang them up."

"Sure."

Romeo handed him his jacket with a "thank you" and followed Sebastian into the kitchen. Ludwig went to the closet to hang it up, then turned to Lovino.

Lovino stepped in close, struggling with the last button of his coat.

Ludwig cleared his throat, feeling like he should say something. "Must be… colder weather than you're used to?" he started lamely. "I mean, it's been kind of unusually…"

Ludwig trailed off. His heart was beating rapidly.

Something was wrong. He could feel it in his stomach before he knew what was causing it. The tight knots of panic seizing him and then the crushing weight on his chest. It was something thick in the very air he was breathing—

"Eh, Ludovico?"

Ludwig blinked and looked up at Lovino, holding out his coat with an odd look on his face.

It was the smell. His cologne. Ludwig knew that smell.

"…Cold." He swallowed and grabbed the coat, turning away so Lovino wouldn't see the shaken look on his face. "Unusually… cold." He managed get the coat on a hanger with shaking hands, and then into the closet.

But he couldn't calm down. He couldn't get enough air. It was poisoned with that scent—

"Excuse me," he said tightly, and walked away as quickly as he dared, trying to hold himself together. Down the hall, to the door—and then finally he was in the bathroom and could shut the door.

But the door didn't shut out the images streaming through his mind.

_Breathe, breathe, I need to breathe—_

His hands gripped the edge of the counter till his knuckles turned white. He was in the bathroom, he knew he was in the bathroom, but the bathroom was not what he saw.

Hands, skin, broken confused snapshots, and a man's genitals that he couldn't look away from, couldn't turn his head—

Francis trapping him in his arms, breathing in his ear and that smell, he had never even thought about it before but that smell rolled off of him, especially when he cornered Ludwig in the bathroom, especially when he stood so close, especially when touched him and licked him—

Ludwig stumbled to the toilet and barely put the seat up in time. A mouthful of lunch came up, but then it was just dry heaves.

There was a knock at the door. "Ludwig? Ludwig can I come in?"

It was Gilbert. Thank God it was Gilbert.

Ludwig nodded shakily, still leaning over the toilet, then realized his brother couldn't see him. "Yes," he croaked, and winced at how his voice quavered.

Gilbert slipped inside swiftly and closed the door. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Ludwig! Oh my God, are you okay?" He rushed to his side and knelt down, one hand rubbing his back and the other stroking his hair. His light red eyes searched Ludwig's face in concern.

Ludwig shuddered and was almost sick again. Francis' hands were still at the periphery of his vision, that thick, sick cologne was still in his nostrils.

"Get it all out," said Gilbert softly.

"I—I—" Ludwig tried to speak, tried to explain because he must look so ridiculous, running away from a new acquaintance with no explanation and turning to a quivering mess on the bathroom floor.

"Shh, shh." Gilbert pulled him into his arms and rocked him slightly.

Ludwig simply allowed himself to be held as he gasped to try to get the air back in his lungs.

"Deep breaths, through your nose," Gilbert instructed.

Ludwig tried to obey, his breath still coming in uneven hiccups. Gilbert breathed in and out with him, though, and eventually Ludwig could take a smooth breath.

There was silence. Ludwig was glad Gilbert didn't say anything. He took a deep breath and tried again.

"I… I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. It's okay."

"It's just… I…" He swallowed. "The cologne," he said tightly.

"What?"

"The—his cologne. Did you smell it?"

"Um, I guess… I didn't think it was _that_ bad," Gilbert said with an uneasy laugh.

"No—it's—" Ludwig stared very hard at the wood grain of the cabinets, focusing on the reality of the place he was in.

He took a shaky breath. "It's the same one Francis uses," he said very quietly.

Gilbert didn't move, didn't say anything, for a moment. And then he squeezed his arms tighter around his brother, pulled his head to his chest and cradled him there.

"It's okay," he whispered. "He's not here. He can't hurt you. He's never gonna hurt you again." His voice was thick with emotion.

Ludwig could not have been more grateful in that moment. Ever since he first told Gilbert about that night, after the Pride party, he had been loath to dwell on the subject of Francis with his brother. Gilbert had gently prodded him at times, suggesting more than once that he see someone at Psychological Services, but Ludwig had always brushed him off, insisting he didn't need help, because it wasn't really that bad. He told Gilbert he didn't even know exactly what happened; he told himself he'd had control over his actions, it was really his fault, not Francis's, because it didn't make sense, he couldn't come to terms with the idea that something had happened to him, been done to him, against his will.

But he couldn't pretend anymore. Certainly not to Gilbert, after he'd seen him like this. But there was no _I told you so_ in Gilbert's attitude, no patronizing comment, not even an admonishment for not being completely honest with him. There were simply two arms around him, anchoring him, and a warm chest to lean his head against. The steady rhythm of Gilbert's heart soothed him.

After what felt like a while, though Ludwig couldn't be sure it was that long, Gilbert nudged him gently. "Think you can go back out there? I'll make sure you don't sit too near Lovino. I'm sure you won't be able to smell it."

Ludwig hesitated, and nodded. He felt exhausted suddenly. But Gilbert helped him to his feet. Ludwig rinsed out his mouth and splashed his face with cool water, and his brother helped him fix his hair and straighten his shirt.

When they made it back to the dining room the others were already seated. Lovino looked at them quizzically, but Romeo beamed.

"Ah, here they are! Don't worry, we didn't start without you; but it was tempting! This looks delicious! Sebastian, you've outdone yourself."

Their father frowned at them. "Everything alright?"

"Yes," said Ludwig quickly. "I just—had a sudden headache. I took some Ibuprofen though, I'll be fine."

Their father looked questioningly at Gilbert, but Gilbert pointedly ignored his gaze as he took his seat. Instead, he smiled at Lovino. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Dig in! Hope you like German food alright."

Lovino shrugged. "Never had it."

"Ah you are in for a treat, Lovi!" Romeo clapped him on the back, and Lovino grimaced slightly. "I don't say that about all German food; normally I avoid it like the plague. But Sebastian works some magic in the kitchen!"

Sebastian waved his hand dismissively, but the corners of his mouth betrayed that he was pleased by the compliment.

The meal was pleasant enough; though Ludwig had always found Romeo too loud and talkative, he had to admit he did a lot to liven up their usual dinner table conversation. Lovino turned out not to take after his relative, only speaking when directly spoken to, and only tersely at that. Maybe Ludwig was biased due to his choice of cologne, but he wasn't particularly enthused by the Italian.

The tone changed when the dessert course was brought out, however. This gave occasion for Romeo to pause in his nearly constant stream of chatter, and finally Gilbert was able to jump in.

"Hey Romeo, Dad told us about coming to Rome this Christmas—it's really great of you. We're super excited." He grinned.

Romeo's eyes lit up. "Ahh, Roma! Yes, I wasn't sure if he'd told you yet—didn't want to spoil the surprise! No need to thank me, really—it will be a pleasure to have you."

Lovino perked up. "You're coming to Rome?"

Romeo answered. "Yes, yes! This Christmas they'll be joining us—what, for almost three weeks? I'm sorry I didn't tell you Lovi—didn't want you to let something slip and spoil it!"

Lovino's eyes lit up in interest. He smiled at Gilbert. "Ah, well—I will have to show you around my city!"

Gilbert grinned. "I look forward to it—did you grow up in Rome?"

"Yes, Lovi—" encouraged Romeo, "tell them about yourself."

"Ah, well…" Lovino shrugged. "There is not much to tell! I did not grow up in Rome though, no. I'm from Napoli—uh, how do you say—Naples? Yes, but, you know, everything is so corrupt down there, the countryside is very polluted. And with _la crisi_ —that is, the crisis, with the economy—things have not been so easy. But, I was lucky enough to find a job in Rome, so I moved up there a couple of years ago. I miss my home city, but, it is better, I think, to be in Roma."

"What do you do?" asked Gilbert.

"I work with mobiles—or, cell phones. Tech stuff. It's not very exciting, but it's a living. The city makes up for it though—there is some great nightlife, let me tell you!"

Gilbert's grin widened.

Sebastian pursed his lips. "Well, we'll see about that."

"Ah come now," said Romeo. "Your sons are adults! Let them live a little! Rome is a safe city—the most you have to watch out for is pick-pockets."

Gilbert quizzed Lovino some more on the highlights of the Roman nightlife, and Lovino willingly shared details about the most lively piazzas, popular clubs, and local hangouts.

Gilbert drank it all in, while Ludwig sat dully eating his Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte and tiramisu. He wasn't really able to enjoy it though; he couldn't help the irrational jealousy rising in him. He could imagine now what their vacation would be like; Gilbert eagerly following after Lovino on all the adventures Ludwig had hope to share just with his brother.

He sighed and tried to get a grip on himself. He knew he was being ridiculous and childish. But when it came to Gilbert, it was difficult not to be selfish.

After they'd lingered over coffee for what felt like hours to Ludwig, they finally all moved to the kitchen to help clean up. It was late by the time their guests finally made their goodbyes. But at the door Lovino paused and turned to Gilbert. "Hey Gilberto—" the Italianization made Ludwig's eye twitch—"we should hang out some more before I go. I leave on Saturday; can I call you tomorrow?"

"Oh yeah, sure!" said Gilbert brightly.

Lovino smiled charmingly. " _Perfetto. Arrivederci_ Gilbert." With a wave he followed Romeo out to their car.

Ludwig noted sourly that Lovino hadn't so much as glanced at him as he made his exclusive offer to Gilbert. Not that he wanted to hang out with him anyway. But it would mean time away from Gilbert.

 _Stop being a baby,_ he chided himself.

They said goodnight to their father and went upstairs. Gilbert was in a cheery mood as he got ready for bed, and didn't seem to catch on to Ludwig's sullenness.

Gilbert slapped him playfully on the butt as he left the bathroom. "See you in my room," he said cheekily, closing the door behind him.

Ludwig sighed. That was a good sign, wasn't it? Gilbert still wanted him—of course he did. One stranger being nice wasn't going to change that. Ludwig supposed he really shouldn't be so harsh; he knew how much it meant to his brother when someone took to him quickly. It didn't happen often; even less so in Gilbert's mind. And it wasn't as if Gilbert were interested in Lovino in _that_ way.

He finished brushing his teeth and went to his room just to take off and neatly fold his clothes. Then, boxer-clad, he crept down the hall to Gilbert's room.

Gilbert tried to coax Ludwig with passionate kisses like the night before, but Ludwig pulled away.

"What's wrong?" whispered Gilbert.

"I… just don't know if I'm in the mood."

Gilbert was silent a moment. His hand reached over and rubbed Ludwig's flat stomach. "…Can I put you in the mood?"

"…You want to?" Ludwig asked hesitantly.

"Of course. Not many chances like this while we're at school." His hand moved down towards Ludwig's groin.

Suddenly Ludwig grew nervous and pushed him away. There was something else, something he hadn't thought of before.

"Ludwig, are you okay?" Gilbert sounded worried now. "…Is it about earlier?"

Ludwig took a deep breath. "It's just—the other day… I was with Angie. And… I kind of… I couldn't…" Another deep breath. "She wanted to go further, but I… couldn't. I kind of froze up, I guess. I panicked."

Gilbert swallowed. "What were… I mean, was it… Francis?"

Ludwig gave a barely perceptible nod.

Gilbert tensed. Ludwig knew he was probably using every ounce of self-restraint not to pummel the pillow in rage at his former friend.

Slowly, he relaxed again, and put an arm over Ludwig's chest. "Ludwig… it's okay. He's not here. It's just me."

"I know…"

"Have you ever felt that way with me?"

Ludwig paused, then shook his head. "No." He hadn't thought of it before, but he had to wonder now why that was—why he had been fine last night with Gilbert, or any other night for that matter.

He turned his head tentatively to his brother.

Gilbert rubbed his shoulder. "You're safe here. You're safe. It's just me." He leaned in to press their foreheads together. "Just me," he whispered, and touched his lips gently to Ludwig's.

Ludwig was tense at first, but grew pliant under Gilbert's convincing hands and mouth. The firm, reassuring touches, slow and deliberate, left no room in his mind for doubts or fears. This, this was real. Gilbert was real. His brother was the most real thing in his life, and Ludwig never felt more real, more alive and in the moment than when they were pressed against and into each other as if trying to meld together; their flesh, already of the same stuff, seeking to reunite itself. There were no thoughts, when they were like this; only feeling, being.

By the time Ludwig lay sweaty, drowsy, and completely contented against his brother's chest, Francis was completely forgotten.


	12. Chapter 9, Part 1

" _I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry!"_

"' _Sorry' doesn't make it better, Gilbert!"_

_Ludwig cowered, peeking over the back of the couch to watch the exchange between his father and brother in the hallway._

_Gilbert's face was puffy and red. Tears shone on his cheeks. "B-but it was an accident—"_

" _And accidents have consequences," snapped their father. He held up a damp shirt Ludwig recognized as his own—only it was covered in blotchy white stains._

" _Look at this shirt, Gilbert. Look at it! This is your brother's shirt! And this—" he leaned down to pick another, similarly ruined, out of the basket at his feet—"is_ my _shirt! Do you know how much it cost? Do you think I can just buy new wardrobes willy-nilly? I am not made out of money, young man!"_

_Gilbert was sobbing. "B-but the bottle, I-I thought it was the d-detergent, it w-was the s-same color—"_

" _Yes, Gilbert, I bought bleach, which happened to come in a blue bottle, like the detergent. That is why these things have_ labels _. I thought I could trust my son to do something as simple as_ read the label _. You have eyes; use them!"_

_Gilbert wailed. "I c-couldn't see it! It looked the same!"_

" _Don't use that excuse with me, young man. You are visually impaired, not blind! You have to learn how to deal with these things! You are entirely capable of reading a label, Gilbert, if you just_ think _to do it! Is that too much to ask?"_

_Gilbert could only sob._

" _Well_ is _it?!"_

_Gilbert let out a small whine. "…B-but I didn't mean to—"_

" _That's it." His father flung the ruined shirts back into the basket along with the rest of the bleached clothes. "You want to do this the hard way? Fine. We'll do it the hard way. Your clothes are in there too, Gilbert. And you are to wear them, for the rest of the week. Maybe then you'll remember to be more careful when you are responsible for other people's belongings."_

_Gilbert stared at him in horror. "No! You can't— They're all gonna laugh at me, please Dad, please, please—"_

" _Then maybe you'll learn your lesson. What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger."_

_Gilbert sat down and started crying in earnest again. "No, no, please…"_

" _Now put your things in the dryer." His father started towards the study, then stopped. "And don't even_ think _about changing into your gym clothes at school unless you are in gym class!"_

_The study door slammed behind him._

…

" _I can't go to school today," mumbled Gilbert from under his blankets._

" _Gilbert, I do not have time for this. Now get out of bed or you and your brother will miss the bus."_

" _I feel sick."_

" _Gilbert. I am giving you till the count of three. And you do not want to know what will happen if I get to three. One."_

_The form under the blankets lay still._

" _Two."_

_Uncertain shuffling._

"… _Three—"_

" _Alright, I'm up!"_

" _Good choice. I've laid your clothes out on your chair. You are to wear them."_

_Gilbert looked morosely at the bleach-mottled shirt and jeans._

" _Now I have to get to work. And Gilbert, I will know if you didn't wear those clothes. Don't try anything."_

…

" _Gilbert, would you like to remove your coat?" Ms. Becker asked again._

_Gilbert muttered something under his breath._

" _I'm sorry, what was that?"_

"… _I'm cold."_

_Ms. Becker glanced around her class of sixth graders. All the students were staring at Gilbert in the front row._

" _Gilbert, I'm sure the temperature is just fine. Now will you please remove your coat and go hang it in your locker? That's not proper attire for the classroom."_

_Gilbert grumbled and stood to go to the door._

" _What was that?" inquired the teacher sharply._

" _Yes Ms. Becker," said Gilbert hastily as he made his exit._

_The moment he stepped back into the classroom after hanging up his coat, the whispers started._

_One girl tittered to her neighbor, "Oh my God, what happened to his shirt?_

" _Does he think that looks cool or something?" her friend whispered back._

" _Quiet down," warned Ms. Becker. "Gilbert, please take your seat."_

_Gilbert sat, head hung, wishing he could turn invisible or at least have a seat in the back and not worry about being near enough to read the board._

_Ms. Becker cleared her throat. "Alright, notebooks out. Today we're starting with grammar." She started diagramming a sentence on the whiteboard._

_Gilbert could hear sniggering behind him._

" _Hey, looks like ghost boy's trying to get his clothes to match his skin."_

" _Maybe it's camouflage for when he goes home to Antarctica!"_

_Gilbert gripped his pencil tighter. The whispers were just loud enough that he could hear them, but Ms. Becker couldn't. But that didn't matter; he could block it out._

_And yet he didn't hear a single thing Ms. Becker said about predicates that entire class period._

…

_Ludwig's heart sank when he opened up his lunch box. It was empty._

_He didn't have any lunch money either. His father always said school lunches weren't healthful. Gilbert refused to eat food from home though; he said people made fun of him for bringing "weird" foods like dark bread and Quark, so he ate cafeteria food._

_It was Gilbert's job to pack Ludwig's lunch every night and put it in the fridge for the next day. Ludwig had taken his lunch box this morning, like every morning, and hadn't thought about why it was so light._

_Ludwig's stomach growled. Sadly, he closed his lunchbox and put it back under his desk. He could forgive Gilbert, though. He knew how upset he'd been about the laundry. Gilbert just forgot, because he was thinking about that. Ludwig felt awfully bad about the ugly clothes Gilbert had to wear. In comparison, he couldn't complain._

_He got out a book and began to read, as he usually did when he finished his lunch. His classmates chattered loudly around him; they never took much notice of him, but Ludwig didn't really mind that. A book was a good enough friend._

" _Ludwig, where's your lunch?"_

_Ludwig looked up. Mr. Peters had stopped by his desk._

_He briefly considered telling his teacher the truth; maybe he'd be allowed to go get some lunch. But no, then Gilbert might get in trouble._

" _I ate it."_

" _You ate it all? Already? That was fast. What did you have?"_

" _Peanut butter and Nutella." It was what Gilbert usually gave him._

" _Mm, that sounds good. Is that all?"_

" _It's all I was hungry for."_

" _Alright, well, remember to eat your fruits and vegetables today."_

" _I will._

_Mr. Peters left and Ludwig turned back to his book._

…

_At recess Ludwig climbed up the hill to the pavilion. Down below was the playground where his third grade class was allowed to play, and up above were the fields and blacktop that the sixth graders used. The pavilion between was the only place both grades could go; it was right in the middle so teachers in either area could see it._

_No one except him and Gilbert ever used it though. It had become their habit to meet there during recess; luckily their classes had recess at the same time. Gilbert couldn't stay out on the field or blacktop for long if it was sunny, and games that involved balls flying through the air weren't his strong suit anyway. Ludwig didn't mind skipping out on tag and fish out of water with his classmates; he and Gilbert had invented better games they could play in the pavilion._

_He found Gilbert sitting hunched over at one of the picnic tables. He sat down next to him._

" _Hi Gil."_

" _Hey, Lud." Gilbert didn't look up._

"… _Do you wanna play aliens?" asked Ludwig hopefully._

" _I dunno." Gilbert looked away. Ludwig could tell he was still upset about his clothes._

_Ludwig thought for a moment. "Hey, did you know that the chemicals in bleach are poisonous to aliens? If you have clothes with bleach on them, you have a 50% better chance of disabling your enemies. That's why the whole Starfleet is wearing bleached clothes now. Unfortunately, I left mine at home today," he said solemnly._

_Gilbert looked at him and a smile crept onto his features. "Really? 50% better, huh? Well, good thing then, because we've got aliens at ten o'clock! Gunman, to your position!"_

_With an excited squeal, Ludwig shifted on the bench and let Gilbert get into place behind him. Gilbert braced his legs on the table supports and clasped Ludwig's shoulders, leaning back and to the right and pulling Ludwig with him._

" _There they are, two of them straight ahead!"_

 _Ludwig lifted his imaginary gun and took aim. "_ Pew pew _! I think I got them!"_

" _No, look, that one's still functioning! He's trailing smoke, let's go after him!"_

" _Aye-aye pilot!"_

_Gilbert leaned forward, making the accelerating sound of an engine. "Uh-oh, he's going into that asteroid field! He thinks he can lose us!"_

" _After him! You're the best pilot in the tri-galaxy area, we can catch him!"_

" _Hold on tight, here we goooo!"_

_Gilbert leaned left and right, swerved up and back down. This was the part Ludwig always liked the best, being pulled and pushed this way and that like he was on a rollercoaster. He screamed in laughter._

" _Uh-oh, it's gonna be a b-b-bumpy ride!" called Gilbert, faking the sensation of turbulence. "Careful n-not t-t-to lose your l-lunch!"_

_Suddenly the turbulence stopped. Gilbert was still._

" _We're losing him!" Ludwig said and pointed ahead, trying to get Gilbert to continue._

" _Ludwig—"_

" _C'mon pilot, hurry up!"_

" _Ludwig, time-out!"_

_Ludwig's face fell. He turned around to look at Gilbert. "What?"_

_His brother looked awful. "Ludwig… what did you eat for lunch today?"_

_Ludwig dropped his eyes. He shrugged. "I wasn't hungry."_

_Gilbert groaned and scrunched up his face. "Crap. Lud, you should've said something. I—crap, crap. I'm sorry Lud, I won't forget again, I promise—"_

" _No, it's okay, I said I wasn't hungry—"_

" _Hey bleach boy!" The yell cut through the air. Gilbert cringed at the new nickname._

_The brothers looked up to see three of Gilbert's classmates approaching from the blacktop._

" _What's that game you're playing? Looks pretty gay," laughed the one in the middle. He was big for his age._

" _None of your business, Tyler," shot Gilbert._

_Tyler smirked. "What, is it a secret?" he drawled in a mocking tone. "We're not good enough for you special little game, is that it?"_

" _Yeah," piped up the scrawny boy beside him, "that's why he's always playing with his little brother—he thinks he's too good for us." The three of them sniggered._

_Ludwig fixed them with his best tough glare. "Leave us alone."_

" _Ooo, I'm so scared!" squealed the third boy, a short fat kid, in a girly voice. "The little pipsqueak wants us to leave them alone!"_

_The others laughed as if this was the funniest thing they'd ever heard._

_Gilbert shot up out of his seat. "Leave my brother out of this!"_

" _Uh-oh, looks like we've made the demon angry," Tyler warned his cronies with a wry grin._

_The scrawny one giggled. "Watch out, I hear he can turn you to dust just by looking at you!"_

" _Ha, I'm not afraid of demons," said the fat one. "Hey demon, where did you get your clothes? Are they the new rage in Freakville?"_

_Ludwig saw red. He was up on the table between the bullies and his brother before Gilbert could stop him._

" _My brother is not a demon," he growled._

_Tyler laughed. "That's cute bleach boy, hiding behind your little brother. Gilly the coward."_

_Gilbert glanced nervously up at Ludwig. "Lud, let me deal with—"_

" _Leave. My. Brother. Alone." Ludwig's voice was low and as dangerous as an eight-year-old's could sound._

_Tyler stepped up close to the table. "Aww, look at the little guy tryin' to be all tough for his wimpy broth—OWWW!"_

_Tyler wheeled back, clutching his nose where Ludwig's little fist had met it with all the force he could muster._

"Owww _my nose!" Tyler was wailing. "That little midget broke my nose!"_

_The other bullies watched in shock, unsure what to do. Gilbert stared at Ludwig, mouth frozen in a wide "O."_

_Tyler's screams carried; the teachers standing on the other side of the blacktop were looking their way._

" _I'm gonna tell Ms. Becker!" screeched Tyler, tears shining on his cheeks. With that he turned and started running toward his teacher, still clutching his nose._

" _You're gonna get in big trouble!" shot the fat one over his shoulder as he and the scrawny kid followed their leader._

_Ludwig watched them go, adrenaline still pumping through him. His heart raced and his face felt hot. He clenched his fists, hoping Gilbert wouldn't notice his hands trembling. He felt like he might start laughing or crying any second._

" _Holy crap, Lud," breathed Gilbert behind him. Ludwig turned._

_Gilbert blinked up at him. "That was… that was a good punch," he said, an appreciative grin crossing his face._

_Ludwig warmed at the praise. A nervous giggle escaped his throat. "Yeah?"_

" _Yeah."_

_Ludwig stood there, grinning stupidly._

_Then came a yell from across the blacktop. "Ludwig, get down off of that table, now!"_

_Ludwig's heart plummeted into his stomach and he scrambled down to stand next to his brother._

_Ms. Becker was striding towards them, with the three bullies trailing behind like little ducklings._

" _Uh-oh," whispered Gilbert. He found Ludwig's hand and squeezed it._

_Ludwig squeezed back._

…

_Their father glanced up from the piece of paper. He looked between the two of them frozen in their chairs, his face unreadable, before his eyes settled on Ludwig._

" _Is this true? You punched a boy in the nose?"_

_Ludwig dropped his gaze. His shoe scuffed at the carpeted floor of his father's study._

" _Dad, the guy had it coming," Gilbert interjected. "He was threatening—"_

" _I didn't ask you to speak, Gilbert. And justification is irrelevant. I asked Ludwig. Is this true?" their father repeated with added emphasis._

_Slowly, eyes still lowered, Ludwig nodded._

_His father let out a short huff of breath through the nose—a sigh of disappointment Gilbert had heard all too often._

_The man was silent for a moment. Ludwig didn't dare look up. Gilbert sat nervously on the edge of his seat, ready to jump to Ludwig's defense._

_But his father turned to him, instead. "And you, Gilbert, you did nothing to stop him? You stood by—in fact, encouraged this inappropriate behavior?"_

_Gilbert's mouth dropped open. Ludwig's head snapped up._

" _No! Dad, he didn't! I did it myself, and I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't of punched—"_

" _Shouldn't_ have _, Ludwig. You're beginning to sound like your brother."_

_Gilbert drooped in his chair._

"… _Shouldn't have punched him," continued Ludwig, subdued. "But Gil didn't—he didn't do anything though. He warned me not to stand up to them in the first place."_

_Thinking of the injustice, he found a bit of his fighting spirit again. "And they were being mean, Dad," he insisted. "They were saying awful things about him and they wouldn't stop—"_

" _About_ him? _So they were not picking a fight with you, and yet you felt it to be your burden to intervene on your brother's behalf?"_

_Ludwig furrowed his brow, unsure what his father meant._

_The man turned back to his older son, who was sitting quietly with head bowed. "Your younger brother is not the solution to all of your problems, Gilbert. And it is unfair and irresponsible for you to use him in such a way—"_

"Use _him?!"_

" _DO NOT INTERRUPT ME, YOUNG MAN."_

_Gilbert clenched his jaw, staring at his father in outraged disbelief. Ludwig looked on nervously. He hated when his father raised his voice. It scared him._

" _When your younger brother is with you," continued their father in a lower, but equally firm voice, "he is your responsibility. And if you cannot be a positive role model for him and distinguish between what is appropriate and what is not, I will see to it that your contact at school is limited."_

 _Gilbert blinked in shock and opened his mouth to speak again, but his father cut him off. "—_ This _—" he pointed to Ludwig, "would never have happened if not for your influence."_

_Furious tears brimmed up in Gilbert's eyes as he tried to find his voice. Before he could, Ludwig spoke up._

" _Dad, it wasn't like that, I promise! Gilbert isn't a bad influence to me!"_

" _He is not a bad influence '_ to _' you; he is a bad influence_ on _you," corrected his father. "And I will see to it that you are no longer permitted to spend your recesses together. You will be far better off with your age mates, Ludwig."_

_Ludwig started to cry._

_Gilbert shot up out of his chair. "NO! You can't do that!"_

_His father pursed his lips, eyes wide and nostrils flared. That was the face that told Ludwig he did not want to be in the room anymore._

"Sit _."_

_The command was low and dangerous, hissed through his teeth in barely contained rage._

_Gilbert's eyes narrowed. "Make me," he spat._

_Before he could register what was happening, Gilbert was pushed down into his chair so forcefully he couldn't breath for a second. One large hand had his shoulder in a painful grip and was shaking him; his father's red face was two inches from his own._

" _DO_ NOT _PUSH ME GILBERT MARIA BEILSCHMIDT! HOW_ DARE _YOU! HOW_ DARE _YOU BE SO INSOLENT TOWARDS YOUR FATHER!"_

_Gilbert felt his bones rattling within him. He squeezed his eyes shut at the flecks of spittle hitting his face._

_Ludwig covered his ears and sobbed._

" _YOU WILL NOT._ EVER _. CHALLENGE ME WITH SUCH ARROGANCE AGAIN, DO YOU HEAR ME?! AND YOU WILL_ NOT _TELL ME WHAT I CAN OR CANNOT DO. I WILL DO_ EXACTLY _AS I SEE FIT WHEN IT COMES TO YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR BROTHER!"_

_Gilbert trembled in his seat, tears streaming down his face. His breath came in choked hiccups._

_Quite suddenly, his father let go and straightened up. He clenched his fists and took in a great gulp of air before letting it out in a trembling attempt at control._

" _Go to your room." His voice was oddly quiet and hoarse._

_Gilbert was still shaking and his eyes were wide and blank with shock, but he stood, and without looking at his father or Ludwig he left the room._

_Ludwig cowered in his chair, wishing he could disappear, wishing he could follow Gilbert._

_His father was quiet a moment. Finally he seemed to remember his younger son and turned to him._

" _Make no mistake Ludwig; what you did today was wrong. You will attend your detention and that will be the end of it. If I hear of you using physical violence again, for whatever reason, your punishment will be much harsher. Now go to your room until dinner."_

_Ludwig nodded quickly and obeyed._

…

_Ludwig placed one cautious foot on the next step up. He had memorized where the floors and stairs creaked the most; so far his mission to sneak down to the kitchen in the dark had been successfully silent. He couldn't mess up now._

_But just as he reached the top stair, the butter knife he had so carefully snuck from the drawer in the kitchen slipped from his sweaty hand and clattered on the wooden step._

_Ludwig froze, heart racing. He tried to listen over the sound of his own heartbeat, straining his ears to catch any suggestion of activity from the hallway below where his father's room was. If he was found like this…_

_Perhaps he could lie and say it was for him, that he was still hungry. He would get in trouble, but it wouldn't be nearly as bad as if his father learned the truth—that the bread and peanut butter jar he held were for Gilbert. Even though it had been Ludwig's idea entirely (he thought his brother must be hungry after refusing to come down to dinner), Gilbert always seemed to get punished whenever Ludwig broke a rule._

_But as he listened, not daring to breathe…_

_Nothing._

_Finally, he let out a sigh of relief. He didn't think he could stand getting Gilbert into even deeper trouble._

_It confused him, why it worked this way. He couldn't say he wanted to be punished instead of Gilbert—so much time shut in his room alone, so many skipped meals, didn't seem fun at all—but he knew it wasn't right. He just wished he knew what he was doing wrong, what he could do to help Gilbert._

_For now, food seemed like the best thing to try._

_Assured that his father was asleep, but still trembling from the adrenaline, Ludwig picked the knife up off the step. A few swift and silent strides later, he was at Gilbert's door._

" _Gilbert," he whispered at the crack of the door, "you awake?"_

_No answer._

_Ludwig didn't dare raise his voice any more, so he gingerly turned the doorknob and pushed the door open far enough for him to slip inside._

_He closed the door behind him just as silently and padded over to Gilbert's bed, wondering if he should wake him._

" _What are you doing?"_

_Ludwig jumped at his brother's voice and nearly dropped the knife again. "O-oh, I didn't know you were awake."_

_Gilbert sat up and switched on his bedside lamp. "You should be in bed. It's late."_

_Ludwig looked down sheepishly at the food he had brought. Maybe Gilbert wouldn't want it._

" _I just thought… you might be hungry. I brought you some bread and peanut butter, just in case…"_

_Gilbert simply stared at the slices of bread and the jar of peanut butter. Ludwig set them down tentatively on the bedcovers._

" _I'm sorry I didn't make it into a sandwich; I didn't want to take too long in the kitchen in case Dad woke up."_

_Gilbert pursed his lips and looked down at his lap. "…Thanks Lud."_

_Relief flooded through Ludwig's body. "So—you'll eat it?" he probed._

_Gilbert hesitated a moment, but then he glanced at his little brother's expectant face. "Yeah, sure."_

_Ludwig grinned as Gilbert reached for the peanut butter._

_As Gilbert started to make himself a sandwich, Ludwig climbed up onto the bed next to his brother. He watched him spread the peanut butter over the bread and wished he would say something._

_But Gilbert was silent. He bit into the sandwich._

"… _How is it?" Ludwig probed._

" _It's a peanut butter sandwich," grumbled Gilbert through his mouthful._

" _Oh, yeah." Ludwig's cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I'm sorry I didn't bring you anything else," he mumbled. "I just thought it would be quick and I didn't want Dad to wake up, but I should have thought of something better—"_

"Stop apologizing _,_ _okay?" The sharpness of Gilbert's tone caught Ludwig off guard._

" _Sorry—I mean, I just, wanted you to have something nice to eat…"_

" _Yeah, well, I'm not hungry." Gilbert shoved the sandwich and jar towards Ludwig and flopped down on the bed, turning his back to his brother._

_Ludwig looked down at the sandwich in distress. His little fists clenched around the blankets. "D-do you want Nutella? I could go get some Nutella instead—"_

"Why do you always have to be so nice to me?! _" Gilbert hissed as loud as he dared, glaring at Ludwig._

_Ludwig's lip trembled. His eyes stung and blurred. He stared at Gilbert, wide-eyed, then looked away as he lost control of the corners of his mouth and his face contorted with shame._

_Gilbert turned away again and pulled the covers up to his ears._

_Ludwig didn't understand. He felt a few tears slide down his cheeks and hit the duvet. "Do you n-not want me to be nice?" he whispered._

_Gilbert didn't say anything, didn't move, but his body was tense beneath the covers._

_Suddenly Ludwig had a horrible thought. Chilling panic crept into Ludwig's stomach and up his throat. "Do you—" He could barely say it. "Do you h-hate me?"_

_He couldn't keep the tears from falling. The question alone, the possibility that it might be true, filled him with unspeakable dread._

_The blankets rustled, and suddenly Gilbert had Ludwig in his arms and was pulling him roughly to his chest. For one wild moment, Ludwig thought Gilbert was wrestling with him, or maybe that he really wanted to hurt him, his grip was so tight—but instead Gilbert simply held him in his embrace, strong and warm._

_Ludwig realized his brother was crying. He could feel his ribs quaking against his own._

" _I c-could never hate you," Gilbert whispered wetly. His sobs grew harder. "I'm sorry Lud, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it…"_

_Ludwig was overwhelmed. He didn't quite understand why his brother was reacting like this, why he was holding him so tight—but still, the words were a relief, and Gilbert's arms were so reassuringly firm around him that he didn't want to move._

"… _It's okay," he offered, unsure. "I—I'm sorry for getting you in trouble. I didn't mean to…"_

_Gilbert sniffed loudly. "I know."_

_They were silent for a moment, until Gilbert murmured, as much to himself as to his brother, "It'd be impossible for me to hate you."_

_Warmth flooded through Ludwig's small body. He smiled, nose pressed into Gilbert's nightshirt. "It'd be impossible for me to hate you, too."_

_For a moment they were silent, simply holding each other, until Gilbert spoke up again. "If you wanted, you could... stay here tonight," he offered nonchalantly._

_Ludwig could tell that Gilbert was only feigning indifference; he wanted Ludwig to stay, and secretly Ludwig was glad._

" _Okay." Ludwig snuggled closer to his brother, but pulled back laughing when his stomach gurgled loudly in his ear._

" _Oops," said Gilbert sheepishly. "Guess I am a little hungry." He giggled and sat up to grab the sandwich._

_Ludwig simply sat there and smiled, watching his brother devour the food he had brought._

_When he was finished, Gilbert carefully placed the jar and knife on his bedside table and made himself comfortable next to Ludwig under the blankets._

"' _Night, Lud. Thanks for the sandwich."_

" _You're welcome," said Ludwig, content._

_But then something crept back into his mind that had been gnawing at him since the awful meeting with their father in the study._

"… _Will we really not be able to play together at recess anymore?" he asked in a small voice._

_Gilbert shifted next to him. After a moment, he said, "We'll figure something out, don't worry."_

_But Ludwig was worried. "I like our games. I don't wanna play tag with the kids in my class every day."_

" _Hey, tag's pretty fun. Don't diss it till you've tried it."_

" _But don't you want to play our games anymore?"_

"' _Course I do. But we can always play them at home."_

"… _Then who will you play with at school?"_

_Gilbert snorted lightly. "Don't worry about me, Lud. I'll be fine. Anyway, I like being alone. Too awesome for all those losers in my class."_

" _But—"_

" _Now quit yapping and get to sleep, okay?"_

"… _Okay."_

_Ludwig curled up against his brother, head whirring with questions: about what he and Gilbert would do, about whether Gilbert really meant what he said, about why their father thought they needed to be separated. He didn't understand how he and his father could see Gilbert so differently. He didn't understand why his father was so hard on Gilbert all the time, and why he was never punished as harshly. It twisted his stomach into knots, worrying about his brother and what he thought of him._

_But at some point these things faded from his mind, and the warm, solid form next to him became the only thing he was aware of, until finally the gentle rhythm of Gilbert's breath lulled him to sleep._

…

It was seven thirty when Sebastian arose; for him that was sleeping in, but after the feast and staying up late last night, it was allowable.

As soon as he was dressed he started the household chores. He liked to get them out of the way as soon as possible.

Laundry was first. It was nine o'clock by the time the first load was finished, and his sons still hadn't gotten up. Usually he would go rouse them, but it was their holiday weekend and he supposed he could let them sleep.

He began sorting his clean socks. One, however, did not match any of the others; in fact, Sebastian didn't recognize it. It was too large to be Gilbert's, so it must have been Ludwig's, and had somehow gotten mixed in with Sebastian's laundry.

He headed upstairs to put it in Ludwig's room.

He opened the door slowly, careful not to make too much noise; he didn't want to wake his son.

He leaned into the room just far enough to place the sock on top of a dresser, and glanced at the bed.

It was empty.

Puzzled, Sebastian paused. The bed did not look slept in, unless Ludwig had gotten up and already made his bed. But why wouldn't he have heard him?

Maybe Ludwig had risen even earlier than him, and had gone out for a walk in the woods behind their house. But he must have left more than an hour ago, for Sebastian not to have noticed.

He returned downstairs to continue the laundry. Ludwig would probably be back soon.

…

Ludwig's eyes fluttered open as a sliver of sunlight peeking through the blinds crossed his face. His head was still pillowed on Gilbert's chest, slowly rising and falling. The comforting, musky scent of their bodies filled his nostrils.

Ludwig glanced at the clock; 9:26. They had slept in and their father was probably waiting for them downstairs so they could have breakfast.

"Gilbert," he said softly, shaking his brother.

"Mm." Gilbert didn't open his eyes.

"Gilbert, it's nine thirty. Wake up."

"Too early," Gilbert mumbled.

Ludwig sighed and reluctantly left the warmth of his brother's bed. "I'm going to get dressed. You should come down too so we can have breakfast together.

Gilbert turned over on his stomach, hugging his pillow stubbornly.

Ludwig rolled his eyes and found his boxers on the floor. He pulled them on and headed for the door. "I'll come back and pull you out of bed if I have to," he warned.

Gilbert peeked over his shoulder just to glare at his brother as he slipped out the door.

…

Sebastian was seated in the breakfast nook with a mug of coffee and the newspaper when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Two sets of footsteps. Into view came Ludwig, followed by a tousled, half-asleep Gilbert.

"Morning," greeted Ludwig, going to the kitchen to make some toast.

"Morning," returned his father, brow furrowed in confusion.

Gilbert plopped down in a chair. "Get me a coffee, would you?" he called.

"Sure," responded Ludwig.

Sebastian looked at Ludwig, at work in the kitchen. He had been upstairs. But not in his room. And not in the bathroom, and Sebastian couldn't think of any reason he'd be in the guest room.

He glanced back at Gilbert, who was resting his chin in his hands and looked like he would fall back asleep any second.

Why would Ludwig be in Gilbert's room?

That was, after all, the only explanation. When they were little, Sebastian would sometimes find Ludwig in Gilbert's bed, but they were much too old for that now. Had Ludwig wanted to talk to Gilbert? But he hadn't heard any voices coming from Gilbert's room. It simply didn't make sense.

Ludwig came to the table with his plate of toast and coffee for him and Gilbert. Sebastian considered asking why he hadn't been in his room, but thought better of it. He didn't want to appear to be prying. Ludwig was an adult who valued his privacy; perhaps he wouldn't be happy to learn his father was coming into his room when he was sleeping—or supposed to be sleeping. Sebastian hadn't thought anything of it at the time, though. He was just returning a sock.

He decided to ignore it. He was sure Ludwig had a good reason, whatever it was.

…

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you came along," said Gilbert, shaking his brother's shoulder encouragingly.

But Ludwig remained stubbornly with his arms crossed, slumping down further on the couch. Part of him felt like a moody, brooding teenager—well, he supposed that wasn't technically false—but another part felt entirely justified in his irritation.

"He didn't give that impression last night," he shot back at his brother, who was leaning over the back of the couch.

Gilbert sighed in exasperation. "Well what does it matter? If I tell him I'm bringing my little brother it's not like he can say no!"

"Well maybe I don't want to spend tonight out at bars with some guy I just met—actually, I couldn't even if I wanted to; it's a Friday night, they'll be checking IDs everywhere," Ludwig huffed. He wasn't exactly pleased his brother had made plans to hang out downtown with Lovino tonight without consulting him first. Not that consulting him would have made much difference; Ludwig was loath to give up any of this precious vacation time with his brother. He knew that was selfish of him, but he had thought Gilbert would feel the same. It hurt to realize he'd been wrong.

"Well…" drawled Gilbert, draping his upper body over the cushions next to Ludwig, "if I asked I could probably get him to agree to a night in…"

"No, I don't want to spend time with Lovino, downtown or at home!"

"Fine, then don't come!"

"I don't want to!"

Gilbert let out a humph. "Just thought it would be fun. Thought you'd wanna be with me."

"I do. With _you_. Key word there."

Gilbert rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Oh c'mon Mr. Grumpy-pants." He reached over to pinch Ludwig's ear and slid a hand onto his thigh with a smirk.

Ludwig swatted him away, annoyed.

At that moment their father was heading in from the back deck where he'd been cleaning the grill. As he made his way towards the kitchen door, he caught sight of something… odd, through the den window.

His older son was leaning over the couch towards the younger, who had what could only be described as an uncomfortable look on his face. As Sebastian watched, Gilbert laughed and squeezed Ludwig's thigh, then pushed his face into his brother's neck for a brief moment. Then Ludwig pushed Gilbert away.

Something heavy and unsettling dropped into Sebastian's stomach.

He made his way to the sliding glass door. His head was light but his feet were heavy. He went inside and glanced back towards the den as he closed the door behind him.

Gilbert was resting innocuously against the back of the couch and saying something to his younger brother that Sebastian couldn't hear.

The scene was entirely normal, as if a few moments ago nothing out of the ordinary had transpired—but Sebastian was sure of his eyes. He hadn't imagined it, nor was he imagining the queasy feeling that had overtaken him.

Maybe it was nothing, though. Maybe he'd misinterpreted it.

But no, no. It was too odd, it couldn't be right, no matter the context. And that morning…

His stomach rolled again, and Sebastian wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. But he had to get to the bottom of this. It would put his mind at rest, at least.

_It's probably nothing, after all._

He cleared his throat and his sons glanced around at him. Gilbert straightened up a bit and leaned just a fraction of an inch away from his brother.

"Ludwig," Sebastian started, venturing to the doorway of the den, "I meant to ask you earlier; I found a sock of yours mixed in with my laundry this morning, so I left it in your room—and I noticed you weren't in your bed."

He thought he saw something like panic flash across his son's eyes, but it passed so quickly he was sure it had been a trick of the light.

"Of course, I don't mind if you go out in the morning, but it seems you… were in fact upstairs…?" He glanced at Gilbert, but his elder son's face betrayed no emotion.

"Oh," said Ludwig, his voice a pitch too high. "Well, I… was in Gilbert's room," he stated matter-of-factly.

Sebastian crossed his arms. "Oh?"

"Yes—" Ludwig glanced at his brother and his tongue darted out to wet his lips "—I just—well, I, couldn't sleep, and I wanted to talk to Gilbert about some things, so I… went to his room and we talked but at some point I guess I fell asleep without realizing it, and neither of us woke up till about nine thirty, so I never did make it back to my room…" He trailed off, blue eyes just slightly too wide as he looked innocently up at his father.

"I see," said Sebastian after a pregnant moment. "And you… slept in your brother's bed?" He glanced back to Gilbert's still impassive face.

Ludwig prayed his face was not as red as it felt when he answered, "Well, yes," with a shrug. He cleared his throat slightly and tried to sound more confident as he added, "Is that a problem?"

Sebastian's eyes flicked back and forth between his sons. "Don't you think you're a little old to be sharing a bed?"

Finally Gilbert spoke up. "What's that supposed to mean?" he shot with a suspicious glare.

Sebastian pursed his lips. He hated to admit it, but the question was fair; what _was_ that supposed to mean? He would rather not articulate it.

"It should be obvious!" he spluttered.

Gilbert raised his eyebrows and fixed his father with a cool, sure gaze. "Enlighten me," he challenged with an infuriating casualness.

Sebastian was rooted to the spot, lips twitching as he cast about for an answer. But none was forthcoming. Or at least, none that he cared to entertain.

In lieu of giving his defiant son a satisfactory response, he fixed him with an intimidating glare.

"I hope this doesn't happen at school." The warning in his voice was clear. With a scowl etched in his features, he stalked back into the kitchen to preoccupy himself with the dishes.

Ludwig glanced up at his brother, seeking his eyes for reassurance.

But Gilbert didn't look at him. He merely flopped down on the couch and started channel surfing, a sour expression on his face.

Ludwig bit his lip and watched the TV screen without seeing it.

A sock. One stupid sock.

It was terrifying how the tiniest thing had the potential to reveal their secret. They had to be careful, and doubly so at home.

He hoped his father had bought his explanation. Well, what else could he do? Surely "my sons are having a sexual affair" was not the most natural conclusion to jump to. His excuse probably sounded far more reasonable.

He glanced back at Gilbert, and wished his brother would look at him, say something to him, that would put his fears to rest. He wasn't upset with him, was he? Just because he didn't want to go out with Lovino tonight?

Gilbert turned off the TV. He sat up and snatched his phone off the coffee table. "I'm gonna call Matt."

Ludwig glanced nervously over his shoulder at his father standing at the kitchen sink. There had been no discussion of Gilbert's boyfriend since the unpleasant day their father first learned of his son's attraction to men. Ludwig wasn't sure he'd appreciate a reminder.

But Gilbert already had the phone to his ear.

Ludwig picked up a _National Geographic_ magazine from the coffee table and pretended to read an article on traditional _muti_ medicine in South Africa while he listened to his brother's conversation. Not as if it was eavesdropping—Gilbert was right there, so he clearly wasn't worried about being overheard.

Gilbert wasn't on the phone long though. It sounded like he'd caught Matthew at a bad time.

"Uh-huh. …Yeah. Call you tomorrow. …Love you too Matt. Bye."

Ludwig tried very hard not to show any reaction as his brother ended the call. Not that he minded Gilbert telling his boyfriend that he loved him, of course. After all, he loved Ludwig, too.

He thought of Gilbert interlacing their fingers and pressing him into the bed, as he had the night before. His lips, trailing from the shell of his ear down his neck to a shoulder as he rolled his hips into him…

Ludwig swallowed heavily and glanced over at his brother, but Gilbert was absorbed in his phone and didn't see his blush.

_He loves me, too._

He gripped the magazine with sweaty fingers and tried to look as if he hadn't been listening.

His father's voice pulled his attention away, however.

"Gilbert," the man called, coming back towards the den.

Ludwig tensed.

Gilbert glanced over the back of the couch.

His father pulled a towel from where it was draped over his shoulder and began methodically wiping his hands. "Private phone calls should be made in private."

Gilbert furrowed his brow. "It wasn't private. I was just calling to say hi to my boyfriend."

His father raised his eyebrows. "The considerate thing to do would be to excuse yourself from the room. Ludwig is trying to read."

Ludwig glanced up in surprise. He quickly set the magazine down. "Oh, it's okay, it doesn't bother me," he said automatically—even if it wasn't entirely true. But for different reasons than his father presumed.

The man fixed Gilbert with a meaningful look. "All the same."

Gilbert's eyes narrowed. "You never minded me talking to Liz on the phone in front of everyone."

Thick fingers squeezed tighter around the hand towel. "That… was a different situation."

Ludwig saw Gilbert's jaw set. He gripped the seat cushion unconsciously.

"Oh?" questioned Gilbert, his voice sharp. "How was it different?"

His father pursed his lips. His gaze was unflinchingly. "I didn't mind the example you were setting for your brother then."

Before Gilbert could open his mouth and say something smart that would set their father off, Ludwig butt in. "It's alright Dad, I know Matt. He's my RA, actually—he's a good guy. He's really smart, and responsible—"

His father held up a hand. "I don't want to hear about this boy's supposed virtues. Gilbert, you are an adult and I cannot keep you from making your own decisions, however ill advised, about whom you associate romantically with. However, what I can do is ask that you leave those things out of this house. When you are at home, you will abide by our family's standards of decency and propriety, especially when you are in front of your brother."

With that he turned on his heel and marched back to the kitchen. The sound of dishes clinking as they were scrubbed and put into the dishwasher became noticeably harsher.

Gilbert sat fuming on the couch for a moment before he shot up and made to follow his father.

"Gilbert, wait!" Ludwig hissed, pulling Gilbert back into his seat. "Just, leave it. It'll only make it worse," he muttered urgently, grateful for the sound of the running faucet covering his voice. "He just doesn't know Matt; give him time, he'll—"

"Easy for you to say!" Gilbert spat back, dangerously close to being audible over the water. "Give him time? What, and put up with whatever shit he throws my way until the day of epiphany comes? Just wait, until one morning he wakes up and thinks, 'Oh, maybe my son isn't the good-for-nothing shit I've thought he is his whole life?' Yeah, great plan."

"Gilbert, he doesn't think that—"

"Did you hear him? _Were you listening to what he said?_ "

Ludwig glanced nervously into the kitchen, but his father's back was still turned and he was still engrossed in banging plates down into their slots in the machine.

"Look, I'll talk to him, tell him about how great Matt is—"

Gilbert scoffed. "Yeah, good luck with that. He'll probably just worry my gay is rubbing off on you."

Ludwig fell silent at that.

Gilbert snorted. "Typical. He hasn't mentioned anything about me having a boyfriend since he found out. It's like he was hoping it would go away if he just didn't have to talk about it." He crossed his arms and slouched down. "Should've known it was coming. He always ruins things." He laughed ruefully. "And yesterday I thought I was doing so well. Didn't take long for him to find something to get on my case about, though."

Ludwig waited for his brother to talk through his anger. He knew just letting him vent was the best thing to do.

Gilbert paused a moment. Sure enough, he seemed calmer, but sullen. Then he asked in a controlled tone barely above a whisper, "When are you going to tell him about Angie?"

Ludwig blinked. "Oh, uh…" He realized he hadn't given it much thought. He was reluctant to tell his father until he had a better idea of how permanent their relationship was.

"Well, I guess Christmas…? Just in case—in case it doesn't work out."

"What, you don't want to reassure him you're 'normal' now?"

Ludwig's eyes flit once more to his father's turned back. "Well, I don't think he has reason to think otherwise…"

Gilbert twisted his lips ruefully. He gave a humorless chuckle. "Oh, right. Forgot 'guilty until proven innocent' only applies to me around here. Must be nice."

Ludwig didn't know what to say to that.

"'Course, he'll still be in for a surprise when you do tell him."

Ludwig's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Why?"

Gilbert looked at him as if it were obvious. "She's black."

Ludwig blinked. He hadn't even considered how race might affect his father's view of the relationship. But his father was a generally tolerant person, in that respect at least. And besides, "She's mixed, actually. Her father's a white French guy."

Gilbert sighed. "Yeah, and Obama was raised by his white mom. But he's still the 'first black president.' You think Dad's gonna differentiate?"

Ludwig stared at him, then at his father in the other room. "You think… You think that would really be an issue though?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Well, not the same as the gay thing maybe. But. You know Dad. Tradition and all that. When he pictures you settling down, let's face it; it's probably with a nice busty Aryan _Mädchen_ , not a girl from some islands off of Africa. Probably counting on you to preserve the good German stock."

" _Tch_. Dad's old fashioned, but… come on. You don't have to act like he's a Nazi."

"The man who raised him was one."

Ludwig bristled. He knew his father didn't like to talk about that. He lowered his voice further yet. "You of all people should know sons aren't always like their fathers."

Gilbert was silent a moment. He looked away and sniffed airily. "Well, at the least some casual racism probably rubbed off."

The water in the kitchen turned off. Ludwig held his breath a moment, but mercifully their father stepped back outside.

He sighed. He knew there was no purpose in arguing the point further. "Well, I guess we'll see when it comes to that. Anyway, speaking of Angie, I should call her."

He got up to go.

"She's a nice girl," said Gilbert when Ludwig was nearly out of the room.

Ludwig glanced back at his brother. "…I know."

Gilbert nodded and looked down.

"…What about it?" questioned Ludwig.

Gilbert shrugged. "Nothing. Just, pointing it out."

Ludwig eyed him suspiciously.

"…Hope you treat her right," Gilbert added in a mumble.

Ludwig swallowed. He raised his chin and fixed a steady gaze on his brother. "I do. Same as you treat Matt."

Gilbert met his eyes for a tense moment. They both knew what those words really meant. Gilbert was a hypocrite if he thought Angie deserved better than an incestuous cheater. And there was only one way to fix that; to make a choice neither of them was willing to make. Normality or perversion. Loyalty to someone else, someone permitted, or to each other.

Finally Gilbert broke their locked gazes. "Good," he said, picking up the remote again and leaning back. "That's good."

Ludwig paused a moment, staring at his brother, and left the room.

He hated that. He hated what he was feeling. This competition, even animosity, between them—the need to prove that his actions weren't entirely reprehensible, or if they were, that Gilbert wasn't any better.

He shouldn't have said that; it was an unnecessary provocation. He could have just left it at "I do."

But he was annoyed at Gilbert all the same. What had he meant by bringing it up? Why was he trying to make him feel guilty? Did he want him to break up with Angie? But before, at the start, he had seemed to like the idea that Ludwig could have a "normal" relationship. What had changed? Was Gilbert feeling the same stabs of jealousy that Ludwig couldn't fully deny he felt whenever he heard his brother exchange a carefree "I love you" with his boyfriend?

Or… did Gilbert really think that they should stop what they were doing, that Ludwig should be true to his girlfriend?

He hated the uncertainty. He hated this impediment to the easiness that had always existed between them. His brother had always been a source of comfort, never of anxiety or resentment.

He reached his room and lay down on his bed, pressing his cheek to the cool covers. He pulled his phone from his pocket and found Angie under his recent calls, but all he could do was stare at her name on the screen.

He reminded himself of the day before, when Gilbert had held him in the bathroom, soothing and nonjudgmental. He thought of last night, Gilbert's sure hands mapping out his chest and thighs and making him feel so real and raw. His scorching mouth, tenderly branding his neck, stomach, lips.

Those were good things. Things that brought them closer. They were so much more important than one slight hitch, a single instance of uglier feelings. There was no way Gilbert wanted to give him up.

They were going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part: Lovino has a surprise for Gilbert, and Dad has a surprise for Ludwig.


	13. Chapter 9, Part 2

"I can't fuckin' stand it!" exclaimed Gilbert, slamming his second beer glass down on the bar. "Being home, man… It's like I can't fucking breathe around my dad without him finding something to complain about. 'Gilbert, your shoelaces aren't tied right; Gilbert, you got a hair out of place, how dare you appear in public looking like such a slob; Gilbert, stop setting such a bad example for your brother.' I have had it up to here." He took a long draught and drained the glass.

Lovino nodded. "I hear you. Parents can be a real pain in the ass, no?"

"Talk about it. God I need another beer. I can't make it through a family holiday sober."

Lovino grinned. "Don't worry, I can help with that when you come to Roma."

"Heh, God knows I'll need it…"

"Let me buy for you the beer." Lovino rose to go to the bar.

"Oh, thanks man."

He returned after a minute and set another beer in front of Gilbert. Lovino raised his own glass, still half-full, in a toast.

" _Salute_ , to my new American friend."

" _Prost_ ," chimed Gilbert, and took a gulp.

He was beginning to feel the alcohol. "Damn, I'm like a whole glass ahead of you. Maybe I should slow down."

"No, no need! As you said, you cannot survive sober, eh? I am driving you home, go ahead—you need to let loose, it sounds like."

Gilbert grinned, the fuzzy beginnings of intoxication seeping into his brain. "You could say that."

"So, your father, he is always so harsh?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Like you wouldn't believe. Today he—he got all pissy 'cause I decided to call my boyfriend in the den, in front of him and Ludwig."

Lovino raised an eyebrow. "Boyfriend? Like, a lover you mean?"

Gilbert caught himself too late. He had no clue what Lovino thought about gays. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned it.

He laughed nervously. "I guess. We don't really say 'lover' here though."

Lovino simply nodded, unfazed. Gilbert let out an inward sigh of relief.

"And… your father doesn't like that? Homosexuals?"

"That's an understatement," grumbled Gilbert. "It's such bullshit. When he found out about me he didn't really say much—he was shocked but then he was like 'you're still my son' and all, so I thought maybe I actually wouldn't have to put up with this shit. Shoulda known better. I think he just wants to protect Lud from my 'impure ways,' or some shit like that."

" _Che palle_. Parents playing favorites—I can understand that."

Gilbert leaned in. "Yeah?"

"Eh, I have a brother—younger, like yours—and he gets all the glory. Talented artist, and my mother always wanted me to do like him—but I don't get art. It's boring. People come from all over the world, pay money, just to see another _Madonna col Bambino_ —ugly paintings, most of them."

Gilbert snorted. "Yeah, not such a fan of museums myself." Mostly because he couldn't make out details as easily as others and quickly became frustrated.

"So, you understand! Perfect little brother, and then there's me. No special talent. And my mother was always complaining about my friends—says I fell in with a wrong crowd. But I tell you, my friends are true friends. You know, where I come from, you need people who will watch your back. And I have that. So I say fuck it, I don't care what my mother thinks. I will move to Rome and do as I want. That's what you must do, sometimes. Fuck those bastards who are holding you back."

Gilbert nodded. He was almost finished with the new beer already. "Dude. That's great. That's great that you've done what you've done. I think that's—that's what you gotta do. Fuck the bastards." He held up his glass for another toast.

They clinked glasses and drank.

"Gilberto, you need another beer."

"Aw I dunno. I drunk—I drank that pretty fast…"

"I insist. It is on me, for my American friend." Lovino clapped him on the shoulder and went back to the bar.

"Well, if you insist…" mumbled Gilbert into his empty glass. Lovino was right, after all. He needed to let loose.

…

Ludwig had been doing his assigned reading for the long weekend when he decided to go downstairs for a cup of coffee.

That was when he saw his father, seated on the living room couch, with a large photo album propped on his lap.

He stopped and glanced over his father's shoulder in curiosity; it wasn't often that he got to see old family pictures.

His father glanced up. "Ah, Ludwig," he said with a smile. "Come here. I want to show this to you." He patted the spot next to him.

Intrigued, Ludwig sat. He caught sight of a faded photo in the album sleeve of a smiling young man who looked remarkably like himself. But the photo had to be about 30 years old, at least, and the young man in the picture had hair that reached past his shoulders.

Ludwig was aware his father had had long hair once, but it was always difficult for him to imagine. It was odd, looking at the picture—the young man with the lively eyes and wild hair seemed nothing like the stern, gray-templed man whom he knew.

"It's so weird seeing you with long hair," he observed with a slight laugh.

His father sighed. "Well, those were different times. West Berlin while the Wall still stood. It was a different place than it is now. Very different. Isolated, crowded, dirty—very punk, you could say." He tapped the photo with his finger. "This was… 1978 or so. I was about as old as you."

"Huh." Ludwig had trouble picturing his father in any setting that could be described as "punk."

He wondered why his father had chosen tonight to pull out the album. Had he been meaning to show it to him? If so, why not show it to Gilbert as well? Or perhaps it had been more spur-of-the-moment. Even his father could be spontaneous on occasion. If that were the case, Ludwig had to wonder if it had anything to do with the tense words that had been exchanged earlier.

His father turned the page. There was the same face, Ludwig's spitting image, looking up at them—only now with a terribly 80s haircut. And with a woman next to him.

Ludwig's breath caught. He had seen photos of his mother before, but it had been so long that he'd forgotten her face.

"Is that…?"

"That's your mother. Maria." His father said her name softly, each syllable cradled gently on his tongue.

Ludwig stared at the woman's face. Her apple cheeks as she grinned. Her nose, slightly upturned, so very like Gilbert's. Her eyes that seemed to stare right at him, into him. They had a spark in them that Ludwig was sure he'd seen reflected in his brother's eyes.

He thought maybe he should be sad, to see the mother he had lost. But he didn't feel much of anything except curiosity. After all, there was nothing really to mourn. To feel the pain of losing something you had to have it in the first place.

She was a complete stranger to him, he realized. She was like a character from a fairy tale, some vague Once Upon A Time.

His father cleared his throat. "That was taken not long after we met. I was going into East Berlin pretty regularly for work then, and a colleague introduced us. This was at… her roommate's birthday party, if I recall correctly. I don't think we'd really even started dating yet, but she was a terrible flirt at that party." He chuckled softly. "That's when I got the journalist visa, took more assignments that would get me to the other side, so I could visit her." He stopped, clearly lost in reminiscences.

Ludwig waited with baited breath for his father to continue. He'd only ever heard the sparsest account of how his parents had met.

But it seemed his father wasn't about to continue. Ludwig didn't want to lose this opportunity, however, and ventured to ask, "So, is that how it worked? You just saw her when you were in the East for work?" He bit his lip, hoping he wouldn't scare his father off the topic.

But the man simply raised his eyebrows in thought. "Well, yes, mostly. Of course I extended my stays when I could..."

He paused. "We did think about her coming to live in the West with me, though. Applying to emigrate, or ways to get her over the border, secretly. But, it was so risky. And I'm sure the Stasi had their eye on her, since I came and went from her apartment so frequently. A West German journalist; that was dangerous. Of course there was always someone following me, wherever I went… I'm still not sure if her place was bugged or not. Never checked the records to find out. But one time, she told me, she came home and found an armchair on the other side of the room from where it usually was. She tried to tell me it was just a burglar. But nothing was missing from the apartment. You know, that's how they used to mess with people's heads…"

He sighed. "And then—well, she became pregnant with your brother, and Gilbert was born… It would have been impossible with a baby. They could have taken him away. But later that year the Wall fell."

Ludwig simply stared at his father, waiting for more. He had known his mother was from the East, but that was all. The Stasi, the inner German border: they were things he only knew from history books and movies. But to think that his own mother and father had lived it… Why hadn't his father ever told him? He wondered if Gilbert had heard any of this.

He knew, too, that Gilbert had been born there in the East. But he never really thought about it, and it was never the subject of discussion. It was strange though, to think that he and his brother had been born in different countries: Gilbert in East Germany, a country that no longer existed, and Ludwig in the newly reunified Federal Republic.

His father turned the page and pointed to another photo. "Here, you see this?"

Ludwig peered at the small snapshot. There were his mother and father, standing among a throng of people and looking ecstatic. In his mother's arms was baby Gilbert, less than a year old, bundled in a jacket and staring at the camera in bewilderment.

"That's the _Mauerfall_ ," stated his father simply.

Ludwig blinked. "You were there when the Wall came down?" he asked incredulously.

His father nodded. "Of course. I was living in Berlin—everyone was there. Maria rushed over right away with Gilbert. Of course it was hell trying to find each other, but when we finally managed to meet up… it was such a happy day."

He stopped, a distant look on his face. He was silent so long that finally Ludwig prompted, "So… what did you do next?"

His father sighed deeply, coming back to the present. "Well, I wanted Maria to come over to the West—she agreed, so we lived there, all three of us, in my little apartment in Kreuzberg for a while. Only one bedroom, but that didn't matter—Gilbert had a crib in our room. We got married in June, but it was hardly a real June wedding—we just went to the _Standesamt_ one day in our street clothes with a colleague of mine as the only witness."

Ludwig was beginning to forget his trepidation as curiosity got the better of him. "Could you not get married earlier, because of legal issues?" he asked. That was what he had always assumed.

A slight frown crossed his father's face. He didn't answer immediately. "Well, yes it would have been difficult. Before the border opened, there was the option to request permission to marry, but there wasn't much chance of success. If your mother had managed to escape earlier I would have married her right away, but…" He sighed again and pursed his lips. "We waited because… well."

He paused for a long moment. Then he faced Ludwig with a pained expression. "I've… never told your brother this, and you mustn't either. You see, when Gilbert was born—well, when I first saw him. I wasn't able to be there for it, of course. She hadn't told me about his condition, I hadn't seen any pictures…"

He shook his head, reproaching himself. "It was stupid of me, I know, but… I didn't think he could be mine. Because there wasn't a history of albinism in my family."

Ludwig's stomach clenched.

His father looked chagrinned as he continued. "That strained our relationship for a while, naturally. But I had a paternity test done after she moved in and, of course, it turned out I was wrong. Maria hadn't been lying to me, so we married. I felt very foolish." From the expression on his face it seemed the feeling still lingered.

Ludwig sat silently, stricken. There was no way anyone would ever question who his father was. It was written in his face. His father couldn't have ever had a doubt in his mind that he was his son.

His father smoothed out the album page with his hand. He cleared his throat and pointed to another picture. "There we are, right after we were married. Outside the offices where we had it done… And here we are in the cramped little kitchen of the old apartment…"

He flipped the page. "That's two-year-old Gilbert in the living room of the nicer place in Schöneberg we moved to, before you came along."

The photos pulled Ludwig away from his contemplation of paternity. He had to smile at the snapshot of his toddler brother; Gilbert sat on the floor, stubbornly clutching and apparently attempting to eat a high-heel shoe that must have been their mother's.

His father chuckled under his breath. "For whatever reason, he loved playing with his mother's shoes. Ruined more than one pair, though."

He went on to show Ludwig pictures of him as well, as a pudgy, red-faced baby, and as a one-year old in a horrid '90s neon romper.

"You were so different from your brother, even that young. You never cried, never tried to swallow potentially fatal objects…"

Ludwig's eyes fell on what looked to be a professional portrait. Of all four of them, together. Ludwig had never seen that before.

They looked so normal; a proper picture of a proper family, a unit, undivided. Everyone in their place. Mother, father, rosy-cheeked children.

"That was Christmas of 1992," said his father softly. "Our last Christmas together."

Ludwig stared at the photograph. It was so strange to think that the woman holding him in her lap, smiling so brightly in the bosom of her family, would disappear from the picture by the next year. Ludwig would grow up without a mother, without even a memory of a mother.

His father had never told him how it had happened. She had simply left; nothing more to it than that. But now, looking at her, looking at them all, together as a family, Ludwig had to know. What could have possibly made her leave? Leave her husband, her children, _him_? Why didn't she stay, even for her sons?

Ludwig's lips parted, but he couldn't find his voice. He couldn't even breathe, until finally he forced out the whisper: "What happened?"

His father didn't react at first. He simply continued to gaze down at the photo. Then he breathed in deeply through his nose and looked up, staring thoughtfully at the opposite wall. His brow was furrowed with concern.

"I suppose… you're old enough to understand, now…" he murmured, more to himself than to Ludwig.

His fixed his son with a solemn look. The wrinkles around his eyes aged him ten years.

"Your mother had some problems, Ludwig. She had since I met her, but I think…" His eyes wandered back down to the album in his lap.

"There was a lot of stress for her, that came with adjusting to life after Reunification. The world she knew disappeared, practically overnight. And she had been a journalist too, you see, but no one wanted to hire her because she was from the East.

"She loved her work," he continued wistfully. "Without it, she became depressed. All she could do was stay at home, look after you and your brother. And—it's not that she didn't love you. She did, very, very much. But she had never seen herself being just a housewife. In West Germany it was quite normal, but in the East, things were different. Women were considered useful workers for the state. They had grown used to a more equal role. It was really hard for her, and—she tried, God knows. But the responsibilities of motherhood… They overwhelmed her."

He paused a moment before continuing, his voice softer. "I… have wished, so often, that I had done more, before it was too late. I didn't think then that there was anything I could do—I had to work full time so we could stay in the new house. We were in debt. But I should have—" He caught his voice rising and quelled the emotion. "I'm sure there's something I could have done. No matter how difficult. I should have done more to help her. I could tell how unhappy she was. She just, lost interest in everything. Even her family."

Ludwig barely dared breathe when his father stopped, gazing into the distance again. He didn't want to break this surreal moment. His father was finally speaking to him. Truly speaking to him, about something meaningful and personal. Ludwig felt that he was peering through a keyhole, at something that had been kept hidden and secret for a long, long time. A piece of his father that he had never glimpsed before.

Finally the man continued. "The next year was very hard." The weight of the memories was audible in his rough voice. "Maria… She was not always depressed. Sometimes, she would lash out. Do irrational things that later she regretted. And of course that only made the depressive spells worse.

"She had been so full of energy, when I met her," he lamented. "That disappeared, except when she was in one of her moods. I could only recognize the woman I fell in love with when she was angry. That's a terrible thing."

He shook his head, a sad smile playing at the corners of his lips. "She was fiery. Always had been. Strong-willed, to the point of defiance… God sometimes Gilbert reminds me of her so much," he blurted out in a sudden burst of emotion. He looked away, biting his lips and blinking back tears.

Ludwig was dumbfounded. He didn't think he'd ever seen his father cry. He hadn't even cried several years ago when he'd gotten the phone call from Germany informing him his father had finally died.

But the man quickly regained control of himself. Clearing his throat, he dropped his head. "Maria was… confused. She was lost and unstable and had become disillusioned with the free, modernized West. So she turned her back on her domestic life as a wife and a mother and found someone who she thought could give her what she wanted." His spoke firmly and rhythmically, as if these were words he had drilled into his own head time and time again.

Ludwig's breath caught. So his mother had been disloyal. Not just to his father, but to all of them—she had left them all for another man.

He was surprised by the anger he felt at that revelation. Nothing about his mother had ever seemed personal before, but suddenly he felt betrayed.

His father had clearly spent much time and mental effort rationalizing his mother's actions. Ludwig tried to understand, too. He knew that there were things he didn't know, couldn't know, about his mother and what she'd been through. But it was difficult to understand someone who abandoned her children to be with someone else.

Ludwig clenched his jaw. "…Do you know who it was?"

His father remained stone-faced. Then quickly, quietly, he uttered the answer.

"It was another woman."

Ludwig blinked. His lips parted.

"She was… gay?"

His father snapped the album closed so suddenly it made Ludwig jump. "No, she was not gay. She was confused and seduced—"

"But, if she wanted to be with a woman—"

"She was not gay!" His father slammed the book down on the coffee table. Almost immediately he composed himself and added, "She couldn't have been. She loved me. She loved me. Very. Much." He choked slightly on the last word.

It was a moment before Ludwig spoke again, choosing his words carefully. The feeling of tiptoeing around a sleeping dragon when speaking to his father was not foreign to him. "Well, sometimes… people can like both, or they can change preferences…"

"That's just an excuse for promiscuity and avoiding commitment," snapped his father.

"No, that's not how it works—" Ludwig rubbed a hand over his face, exasperated. He wished he knew how to make his father understand. If not for the sake of the mother he never knew, then at least for Gilbert's sake. "All I'm saying is, if she was struggling with her sexuality at the time, then that would have only made it harder…"

He was surprised to find himself defending her. He couldn't forgive her for abandoning them with no further contact, but if his mother did prefer women, then he couldn't blame her for wanting to end the marriage. Even if she had loved his father at some point. The pressure must have been enormous, especially in a more conservative society and time. No wonder her mental health had been suffering.

But his father shook his head. "You don't know what you're talking about, Ludwig. You've been listening to your brother too much."

Anger flared up in Ludwig's stomach. "Dad, my mom may have acted wrongly, but that doesn't mean Gilbert will do the same thing." He was about to add something about Gilbert's loyalty to Matt, but stopped himself short, realizing what a bald-faced lie it would be.

"Well, he won't if I can help it. He claims he likes men and women, so I don't see why he can't simply—stick to women, if he likes them just as well," he huffed.

"Dad… You can't help who you fall in love with." Ludwig felt lead sinking into his stomach as he said it.

"He doesn't love that boy." The scorn was clear in his father's voice. "He wants to be edgy, rebellious—he'll grow out of it. Hopefully."

Ludwig bit back a growl of frustration. "It's not something you grow out of like adolescence."

"All the same! If he can be happy with a woman, then he should be looking for a woman. He can't settle down with a man. There's no commitment in those relationships. But if that's what he chooses, his life will be full of ridicule and discrimination, and God knows he already gets enough of that. Do you want your brother to be a social pariah?"

"Dad, gays are hardly social pariahs—"

"Maybe not in your liberal little college town, but in the wider world—I only want what's best for him. Try to understand that."

He lowered his voice. "I know you want to defend your brother. You always have, and that's admirable, Ludwig. But sometimes Gilbert needs to learn his lessons. I want him to have a chance for a happy family, a happy life. I am only trying to prevent him from making the same mistake your mother did."

Ludwig wished he could hurl rebuttals back at every misguided point his father had made. But something about the words "ridicule," "discrimination," and "happy family" made his throat close up.

Who was he to talk. The life his father wanted for Gilbert would be so much better than what Ludwig would bring him, if they continued as they were.

Cheating. Dishonesty.

Family tangled and ruined.

 _Social pariahs_.

He tried to suppress the nausea roiling in his gut. He swallowed down the lump in his throat.

"Maybe…" he started, his voice hoarse. He cleared it and tried again. "Maybe it wasn't a mistake," he said timidly. "For her to leave. I'm not saying it was right—not how she did it, never contacting us or anything. But, maybe she really couldn't stay. Maybe it's better that she didn't, if she… if she didn't feel able to, be in a relationship, with a man."

His father sighed irritably. "You're too young to understand. I shouldn't have expected otherwise," he muttered, and rose from the couch. "It's late Ludwig. You should get to bed."

He left the room without a second glance.

Ludwig heard the downstairs bedroom door close. He sat frozen on the couch for several long minutes, trying to process it all. But it was hopeless. Everything was too jumbled and confused and new.

Finally, he stood and trudged up the stairs to his own bed. He needed to sleep on it, and tomorrow he'd have a long talk with Gilbert.

That would be good. Their early childhood, their mother: those were things only they shared. They could speak openly with each other about them, reminisce, speculate. They could come together over these revelations and forget the pettiness and doubt they'd felt earlier that day.

At least, Ludwig hoped so.

…

"And your brother, Ludovico? What does he think about all of this?" Lovino fixed Gilbert with an inquisitive stare.

"Ludwig? Oh, 'e… I dunno what 'e thinks. I mean, 'e knows that i's not fair," Gilbert slurred over his sixth beer. The last one Lovino had bought him had been especially strong. "I guess…" Gilbert's eyelids fluttered. He struggled to focus his gaze on the tabletop.

"'E tries ta help. Sometimes. I mean, 'e kin say stuff that Dad'd kill me fer sayin'. But… sometimes 'e defends Dad instea'f me." Gilbert gestured dangerously with his beer glass. "'E doesn' really get it. Like, 'e thinks the guy kin change, that'll 'ave… an effi—epigraphy—aw fuck. An… epiphany. Tha's it."

Lovino examined Gilbert closely. He tilted his head. "Well, it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"I' does?"

"Why would he want to give up being your father's favorite? And as long as he is the favorite, that means your father will treat you not as well."

Gilbert squinted, trying to think. "I guess… but, I mean, 'e loves me…"

"Tch." Lovino leaned back in his seat. "Sometimes love is not enough. One must show through actions, no?"

Gilbert blinked. "He does action…"

Lovino shrugged. "But he obeys your father, no? Like a good son? And encourages you to also obey, even when the injustice is large?"

Gilbert stared at his glass, trying to clear the fog in his head. Ludwig had kept him from defending himself to their dad earlier, hadn't he? Even when their dad said all that shit about him and Matt… "Yeah, I guess…"

"Well, there you go."

"There I go wha'?"

"He is also holding you back, then. Why listen to him? It's in his interest to let your father step all over you. He may say something against it here or there, but at the same time he is enjoying all the benefits of being father's favorite. It's easy for him to play both sides, no?"

Gilbert stared at Lovino, mouth hanging slightly open. "Sides?"

"Do not take me wrong, my friend. I am sure he loves you, as a brother should. But, I think it is clear where his loyalty lies."

Gilbert frowned into his beer glass. Was that true?

Ludwig did tell him often not to pursue arguments with their father, even when Gilbert knew he was right. Other times, Ludwig simply stayed silent, trying to act neutral. But what was he really thinking, and why didn't he voice those thoughts? Gilbert didn't have the luxury of remaining silent or "neutral" on the sidelines.

Lovino stood. "Come, Gilbert. It is late, and I want to show you something before I must bring you home."

"Oh." Gilbert drained the last few drops and stood unsteadily, thoughts of Ludwig and their father already dissolving in his alcohol-soaked brain. He snatched up his jacket and patted the pockets haphazardly for his wallet. "Okay. Good ta go."

Lovino helped Gilbert stagger out to the car. When they were out on the road Gilbert spoke.

"I think… I'm drunk."

Lovino chuckled. "It means you had a good time!"

"Heh, yeah… But dude, I can' go home like this. I can' go home drunk."

"Can or can't?"

" _Can'_. Cannot." Gilbert's head fell back against the headrest. "So drunk…" he muttered.

"Eh, do not worry, Gilberto my friend. You are not going home yet."

"No? Where we goin'?"

"I told you, I want to show you something. I think you'll like it."

"Oh. Okay."

"You like parties, yes? Having a good time?"

"Yeah, 'course." Gilbert grinned.

"Then you will like it. You are a good guy, Gilbert. Very relaxed. That's what I like. No… pretentions. You are open to things. Or, do you say 'down'?"

Gilbert laughed. "Yeah, I'm down."

"Good. Then we will have a good time."

They reached Romeo's house and again Lovino had to guide Gilbert to the door, due both to his inebriated state and the fact that he could barely see a thing in the dark. He tripped twice but managed not to fall.

Once inside, Lovino led him upstairs to the guest bedroom where he was staying. Gilbert followed blithely.

Lovino closed the door behind them and grinned at Gilbert. "You wait. One moment."

Gilbert leaned against the wall for support and let his eyes wander lazily around the room. Somewhere along his bogged-down thought process came the indistinct realization that he was in another man's room, and they were alone; Lovino had said Romeo would be out late. Gilbert vaguely wondered if Lovino was interested in him—but he was also European, and with them it could be hard to tell.

Gilbert looked back over at Lovino and saw him leaning over the dresser, doing something Gilbert couldn't quite make out.

Lovino turned around and held something out to him. "Guests first."

Gilbert walked forward, trying very hard to keep in a straight line. He stumbled a bit against the edge of the bed and tried to act like it had been intentional. He rested against the mattress so he wouldn't have to stand up straight.

He took what Lovino was handing him and looked closely at it. "Issa dollar bill."

"Don't unroll it—have you never done this before?"

"Done wha'?"

Lovino jerked his head towards the dresser. "A line."

Gilbert blinked down at the wooden surface and saw what Lovino had been doing.

On top of a credit card were three strips of white powder.

"Oh." Gilbert shifted a bit, uncertain. "Uh, no, I haven'…" He laughed a little. "Weed, MDMA, that stuff… never snorted though. Wha' is it?"

"It's just coke. It's good stuff, you'll like it. All you do is hold the other nostril, inhale—hard so it goes up—" he mimed along in demonstration—"and sniff, make sure you have it all. Simple."

Gilbert stared dumbly at the cocaine. He had always been a little curious about what harder drugs were like—just to try. Not to use regularly, of course. He was flattered Lovino was offering, too. Lovino liked him. He thought he was cool, and "down." Gilbert didn't want to change that impression now.

"Wha'… does it do? Wha's it feel like?"

"Eh, snorting can burn a little, but it is not bad. And then, it hits some people right away, others after a few minutes. And it makes you feel… on top of the world. You will like it. Try."

Gilbert's drunken mind processed his options for about half a second. "Yeah, sure. Okay."

"Good man. Here, clear your nose first." Lovino handed Gilbert the tissue box.

"Oh, thanks." Gilbert blew his nose and stuffed the Kleenex into his pocket. He leaned over the card with the lines and put the tip of the makeshift dollar tube into his nostril. "So I jus'…"

"Straight across. Breathe out first—but not on the coke!"

"Oh, right." Gilbert turned his face away and breathed out. Then he turned back to the card and inhaled through the tube as quickly as possible.

He felt the burn at the back of his throat immediately. His nose began to run and he sniffed.

"Here, you missed some." Lovino pointed. "Go more slowly."

Gilbert went back over the line to pick up what he'd missed.

"That's right. Now, pick up the little bits that are left with your finger and rub it on your gums. Don't want to waste any."

Gilbert obliged. His nose twitched.

"You want another, or…?" Lovino gestured to the other lines.

"Naw man, I'll see how this goes first." Gilbert knew he was a little drunk, so he ought to be careful.

Lovino shrugged and bent down to do the other two lines.

Gilbert sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for something to happen.

Ten minutes later, just when Gilbert was thinking it hadn't worked, something did happen.

Lovino was animatedly telling a story about one of his wildest drug-fueled adventures when Gilbert felt a wave of warmth wash over him. His face flushed and a bubble of elation welled up inside of him.

The room around him that had been foggy with alcohol came into acute focus. He could see everything. More than his eyesight usually allowed.

He was floating. He was floating and he was invincible. He just knew it. He could feel life and strength coursing through his veins. He had the inexplicable urge to throw his head back, to bask in it.

He didn't notice Lovino had stopped telling his story until he asked, "You feel it now, no?" with a laugh.

Gilbert laughed too. "Yeah, I do." He couldn't stop grinning. There was a wonderful warmth growing under his ribs and spreading through his skin. He felt so happy, to be here with Lovino, with a new friend who accepted him and liked him and thought he was cool and wanted to do things like this with him.

"You feel good?" inquired Lovino, patting him on the back.

"Dude, I feel… awesome. This is awesome. You're awesome! I'm awesome!" He put an arm around Lovino's shoulders and they laughed together.

Lovino grinned. "You are awesome. Gilberto the awesome!"

"Dude, I love it! Oh my god, it's awesome. This is awesome. Shit I keep sayin' that don' I. I just—fuck. I wanna—I dunno. I dunno what I wan'."

He blathered on, the words spilling out before he was knew what he was saying. Lovino cut in every once in a while, but then Gilbert picked the thread back up. He had an irresistible urge to talk and keep talking, because Lovino understood, the guy really got him and he was so smart and had his shit all figured out and he would listen to him—

"You are so fucking lucky, y'know that? Yeah, you totally are. I mean, jus' up 'n move to Rome, right? Tha's awesome! Like, yer an adult, you can do what ya want!"

"That's right. That's right. I am an adult. So are you! We can do whatever the fuck we want."

"Exac'ly! You were jus' like, 'fuck the bastards, I don't have ta listen to my parents.'"

"Fuck the bastards. The world is full of bastards, Gilberto. You must simply fuck all of them. They aren't worth your time. Not a guy like you."

"Yeah. Yeah! You're so right! Like my dad. He doesn' know me. He dunno me!" exclaimed Gilbert, gesturing wildly. "He couldn' give a shit—y'know what, I'm gonna say rightta his fuckin' face, 'Yer a fuckin' bastard. An' I can fuck whoever the hell I wan'. I don' give a shit what you think, I will fuck whoever, whenever, I will fuck them right in fronna you, tha's all the flyin' fucks I give.'"

"That's right. You gotta tell the bastard."

Restless energy was building in Gilbert's chest and propelling him onward. He felt daring. He wasn't angry anymore, when he spoke about his father. He was full of triumphant joy, because he was going to show his father just what he was capable of.

"An' I mean it! I'm totally serious!" Unable to contain himself, he stood up from the bed and paced across the room. He could practically see his father's scornful face in front of him.

"I will say, 'Fuck you an' fuck yer prudery and yer so-called decency. I'll fuck all the men I want. You hear that? I like fuckin' men! So fuck you! Maybe you need a good one in the ass too!"

Lovino fell sideways on the bed, cracking up. Gilbert laughed too. It was thrilling, talking like that. He wanted to say and do the most outrageous, shocking thing possible.

"'You cocksucker!'" he shouted, still laughing. "'You fucking cockslut, I bet you like cock too! You fuckin' hypocrite, you can't stop me! I'll fuck whoever the hell I want. I'll fuck my boyfriend if I wanna. I'll fuck my teachers if I wanna! I'll fuck yer favorite son if I wanna!'"

Lovino cried tears of laughter. "Your brother? Holy shit, Gilberto, you are one pervy bastard!"

Gilbert grinned and shrugged. "Yeah, why not?" It was so empowering to say that out loud, to skim the surface of such a huge secret with no fear of repercussion.

"Yeah, why not? Go home and fuck your little brother, see what your father thinks of that!" Lovino seemed to think the suggestion hilarious.

"I will!" laughed Gilbert.

Lovino picked himself up off the bed and went back to the dresser. "I need some more. C'mon, have another."

"Okay," said Gilbert easily. He wanted more too—of the drug, the laughter, this feeling. He felt better than he could ever remember.

"You know, I can sell you some too, if you want," offered Lovino casually. "I don't have much on me of course, travelling and all, but… I could give you a better price than you'll find anywhere else. For a friend."

Gilbert was taken aback, but somehow honored as well. "Oh, tha's—I appreciate it, really, but I don' have much money on me." He was sure he couldn't afford it anyway.

"Eh, that's alright, you can pay me in Roma."

Gilbert considered a moment. "How much're we talkin'?"

Lovino tilted his head. "Eh, 150 dollars for an 8 ball. That's that much." He indicated a little bundle in a plastic bag. "That's a deal, trust me."

But it wasn't petty cash either. Still, Gilbert had his earnings from his internship, meager as they were… and he would be getting Christmas money. The thought that he should be saving for after graduation crossed his mind, but it was fleeting. It would be worth it. It's not like he'd use it that often—it would last a while. And 150 wasn't much in the big picture.

"Well, if yer sure…"

"Yes, yes, of course! Take it! And you owe me 150 in Roma, right?"

"Right." Gilbert took the little bundle from Lovino and stashed it in his pocket.

They snorted one more line each.

As he waited for the second line to kick in, Gilbert listened amusedly to Lovino's colorful strings of Italian curses as he described everything from an incompetant coworker to a cop who'd given him a hard time about a parking ticket.

But the expected feeling of euphoria didn't come. Maybe it hadn't worked. But that's what he thought last time, and then it did work. Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe he should do a bit more, or maybe he should ask Lovino about it, but maybe Lovino would think he was paranoid and obsessive and he'd regret sharing the drugs in the first place and he was really starting to feel much to hot.

Gilbert tugged at the front of his shirt. He could feel his chest tightening, tendrils of anxiety creeping their way up under his sternum. He tried to ignore it. He would be fine. It would pass. But God he was hot, he was burning up.

"It's… it's kinda hot in here, don' ya think?" He laughed nervously.

Lovino stopped talking and looked at him. "Man, Gilberto, you're sweating like a pig!" He snorted.

"You don't feel hot? I…" The anxiety wasn't going away. It was growing, squeezing his lungs in its iron grip.

He was on his feet before he realized it. "I have ta…"

He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. It was so loud, so fast, how could he hear his own heartbeat as if it were in his skull?

He pressed his hands to his face. He was going to die. He was going to die, he was sure of it, he was burning up, his heart was racing—

"Eh, Gilberto, you okay?"

"N-no…" Gilbert gritted through his teeth. When had he started grinding them in the first place? "I'm n-not okay, man…"

"You're shaking—hey, calm down—"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Gilbert screamed. "I'm not okay—" He gasped in ragged gulps of air.

"Yes you are, just breathe—"

"Don't tell me what to do!" Gilbert's voice was too high pitched. "Take me home, take me home right now! I needa get the fuck outa here—"

He was falling. He was drifting. Nothing anchoring him in this foreign world. It was so bright his eyes hurt and he couldn't close them, nor could make sense of what he saw. He was watching unfamiliar scenes unfold as if on a movie screen. But he was so far away from them. Was that where he was, that bedroom he saw? Were those his hands, trembling so violently? His feet, going down stairs?

Gilbert was aware of a voice speaking to him, but he couldn't understand a word it said.

His head hurt. He felt sick. He was sure his heart would give out any second. He was going to die.

And then he was in a car. How…?

"Wherethefuck am I, wherethefuck am I, take me home, take me home…"

He realized the string of whimpers and mutters was coming from his own lips. And he couldn't stop it.

"Fuck fuck fuck I don' wanna be here, fuck take me home, I'm gonna die I'm dying I'm gonna die—"

A voice came through to him. "You're not going to die, Gilbert, you're not going to die, you need to calm down—"

"No, no, take me home take me home—"

"I am taking you home, we'll be there soon."

Gilbert's hands pressed at the dashboard, at the door, at the seat. He was stuck in this little box, he needed air, he was going to suffocate—"

"Gilbert, stop!" Lovino reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Gilbert had started banging his head back against the seat.

"I'm gonna throw up…"

"No, no you're not. You're going to be okay. Deep breaths."

Gilbert was crying, he was shaking. Everything was too hot and his head was too full of noise and was going to explode if he couldn't get out of this goddamn seat.

He opened his eyes. When had he closed them?

Lovino was speaking to him. The car wasn't moving.

"—just breathe, get a glass of water, it'll pass," Lovino was saying.

"Where the fuck am I?" asked Gilbert. He was breathing hard. His body ached. He had jammed himself into the corner of the seat and door in an unnatural position.

"We're at your house."

Gilbert's eyes darted to the window, but he couldn't see what was outside. "My house?"

"Yes, you asked me to take you home."

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck no no nonono I can't go in there, don' make me go in there—"

"Gilbert, you wanted to go home!"

"My dad's in there, if he sees me he's gonna kill me, he'll kill me—"

"He is sleeping by now. Go to your room and sleep also. You will feel better in the morning, he won't know."

"Shit shit shit I'm dead I'm so dead…" He held his head, squeezing his eyes shut. His teeth grating against each other made a terrible noise but he couldn't stop. Tremors reverberated in his every bone. If only he could get a good breath of air instead of these hiccupping gasps—

"Gilbert, listen to me. Breathe, okay? Just breathe."

"Breathe, breathe, breathe—"

"Don't say it, do it."

"Do it. Okay. I can do that. I can do that."

"Good, then do."

"Okay, yeah. Breathing. Okay, I'm breathing." Shallowly and rapidly, but breathing.

"I'm going to help you to the door now, okay?"

"To the door?" Gilbert swallowed. "Yeah, the door, right, door…" He blinked hard several times, but it didn't help clear his head.

Lovino came around and got him from the passenger's side. It took some coaxing to get him to stand, he was pressing himself so hard into the seat, as if he were glued there. But they managed to get to the door.

"You have a key?"

"What? A key? What key?" Gilbert was confused. He didn't like this. He didn't like being confused. It scared him. What was going on?

"A key for—never mind." Lovino reached into Gilbert's coat pockets and retrieved his keychain. He unlocked the door.

"Okay, now you're going to go in quietly and go to your room and sleep. I have felt this way before and I survived. You'll be okay, trust me."

"Wait!" pleaded Gilbert. "Don't make me go in there, I can't, I can't, I can't—"

"Gilbert, calm down, you need to go in now! Be quiet, I'm opening the door."

As softly as possible, Lovino turned the doorknob and ushered Gilbert into the house.

"Go on," he whispered.

Gilbert stepped forward, heart beating a tattoo in his throat.

Then he froze. He was paralyzed. He was sure, if he took another step his father would wake up, or the whole house would come crashing down on his head, or he would drop dead right there on the floor.

In desperation, he looked back to Lovino—only to see the door already closed. Lovino was gone.

He was on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Gilbert pushes the limit with his father and brother.


	14. Chapter 10

_Breathe. Breathe. Just breathe._

Gilbert wasn't sure how long he stood there in the entryway, focusing on that one thing. It ought to be so simple, but it wasn't. If he didn't keep reminding himself he might forget and suffocate.

Everything was eerily still around him. He was sure his breathing was loud enough to wake his father down the hall. He had to get to his room, and fast. He'd be safe there. But God he was thirsty, he really should get a drink of water—

Somehow Gilbert managed to get his feet unstuck from the floor. He stumbled his way to the kitchen, cringing as each footfall and creak of the old floorboards echoed in his skull.

He succeeded in getting a glass out of the cupboard and filling it with water without making too much racket, though. Relieved, he drained the glass and carefully placed it on the counter.

 _Okay, hard part's over. You're good,_ he told himself as he tiptoed from the kitchen. _Just a bit further, just to the stairs—_

"Gilbert?"

He froze. That was Dad's voice. That was bad. Maybe he hadn't been as quiet as he'd thought.

His father was blocking the path to the stairs, wearing his robe and blinking at Gilbert with bleary eyes.

Gilbert briefly considered staying as still as possible, like a rabbit, so his father couldn't see him, but quickly decided to give up on that option. He was far too nervous.

_Just act natural, casual. You're fine._

Gilbert tried to relax. "Hi. Good evening." Fuck that didn't sound natural at all. Was he speaking too loud?

His father squinted at him. "It's awfully late, Gilbert. I thought you'd be home sooner."

Annoyance pricked at Gilbert's brain. It eased the stranglehold of fear. "Yeah, well. I'm not. So?"

"There's no need to take that tone with me, young man."

"Oh," Gilbert scoffed. "'Young man.' I see where this is going," he mumbled.

"And where exactly is it going?" his father asked sharply.

"Same place it always goes," shot Gilbert. He was shifting his weight back and forth between his feet and his hands just wanted something to _do_. The restlessness of paranoia was converting back to the restlessness of brash daring. Now that they were face to face, Gilbert didn't feel scared of his father anymore. He gave him something to focus on, someone to direct his pent-up energy towards.

His father's expression should have been a warning. "If it always goes somewhere," he articulated carefully, "it is only due to your behavior, Gilbert Beilschmidt, so you would do well to drop this act right now—"

"Oh _Gaahd_ now with the full name too?"

"GILBERT. What is wrong with you—are you drunk?!"

Gilbert rolled his whole head in exasperation. _God_ why did his father have to be such a pain in the ass?

"Piss off, it's none uh yer business."

A hand like a vice closed around Gilbert's forearm. His father's voice was a threatening hiss.

"It is absolutely my business what state you enter my house in! How _dare_ you use such language with me! How _dare_ —"

He stopped short, scrutinizing Gilbert's face. His eyes widened and his jaw set.

"Are you… _high?_ " he asked incredulously.

Gilbert twisted away from his father's grasp. "Pshh. No."

Sebastian was silent a moment. When he spoke again his voice was dangerously low.

"Gilbert. Beilschmidt. What. Did. You. Take."

Gilbert glared at him. "That's none uh yer fuckin' business, okay?"

Sebastian exploded.

"IT IS _NOT_ OKAY YOUNG MAN. WHAT DID YOU TAKE? HOW DARE— _TELL ME WHAT YOU ARE ON!_ "

"IT WAS JUST A BIT OF FUCKIN' COKE, OKAY? IT'S NO BIG FUCKIN' DEAL!"

"COKE? _COCAINE?_ THAT IS _ABSOLUTELY_ A BIG FUCKING DEAL—DO YOU HAVE _ANY_ IDEA—HOW _DARE_ YOU, HOW _DARE_ YOU COME INTO THIS HOUSE JACKED UP—GILBERT, PEOPLE _DIE_ FROM TAKING THAT SHIT!"

"Oh and like you'd be _so broken up_ if I OD'd! Great father that you are, an' all. Maybe I'd be better off that way!"

"Gilbert, you have no right to speak like that. I am very. _Very_ disappointed in you."

"Boo-hoo, tell me somethin' I don't know."

"Your lack of judgment astounds—"

"Oh for fuck's sake, I'm an adult Dad! I can make my own fucking decisions! I'm not fuckin' thirteen years old any more!"

"Yes, you are an adult!" Sebastian shouted, red-faced. "Which is what makes this all the worse! And yes, Gilbert, you can make your own decisions, _unfortunately_. I cannot stop you from fucking up your life in every way conceivable! But I _can_ and I _will_ lay down the rules in this household!"

At some point in the exchange a bewildered Ludwig had appeared downstairs. He glanced warily between his father and brother. "What's going—"

"Ludwig, you stay out of this," warned his father, barely in control of himself. "Gilbert, you will not speak one more word. I realize you are in no state to discuss anything right now, but this is not over. We will be having a talk tomorrow."

"Oooh I'm so scared," drawled Gilbert.

"Gilbert." Sebastian's voice was sharp as the crack of a whip. "If you know what is good for you—which clearly you do not, but if you have one single ounce of sense in that thick skull of yours you will go upstairs to your room. This instant."

"What a charmer," muttered Gilbert. "Remind me how you've stayed single all these years?"

His father looked ready to burst a blood vessel. Ludwig gripped the bannister in apprehension.

Quietly, far too quietly, Sebastian grit out, "Shut. Up. Now."

But instead Gilbert broke into peals of laughter. "You know, I used to wonder, I really did, but I finally fucking get it! Like, who would possibly stay with you by choice? I mean, I'm surprised Mom stuck around long enough to pop us out—"

_WHAM._

Gilbert was on the floor before he knew what hit him. The lingering effects of the drug weren't enough to mask the pain blossoming in his jaw.

" _Dad!_ " yelled Ludwig, shocked. He tried to run forward to Gilbert, but his father pushed him back.

" _Stay out of this!_ "

Terrified, Ludwig hovered just out of his father's reach. He could barely believe what he'd seen; for all the times his father had been furious with Gilbert, he had never, _ever_ hit him.

Sebastian stood over Gilbert, seething. "And _you—_ Not one. More. Word. You have _no idea_ what you are talking about."

Gilbert lay curled on his side, clutching his face. He didn't respond.

"You are a _disgrace_ to this family, Gilbert," spat his father, voice ragged. "A _disgrace_. In fact, I am _glad_ that your mother isn't here to see what her son has become. I think the shame would kill her."

Quite suddenly, Sebastian turned on his heel and stormed down the hall. His bedroom door shut with a _bang_.

Ludwig stood motionless, his heart thumping wildly. But after one moment to collect himself, he was kneeling next to his motionless brother.

"Gilbert, Gilbert! Are you okay?"

Gilbert was silent and still, but his body was tense enough to tell Ludwig he wasn't out cold. With some effort, Ludwig pulled him up into a seated position.

Gilbert's face was stony. He stared ahead, brooding and unblinking.

"Come on, let me see that," said Ludwig gently, attempting to pry Gilbert's hand away from his face where the blow had struck.

But Gilbert wouldn't budge. He kept his hand glued to his jaw and didn't look at his brother. Ludwig wasn't even sure Gilbert had really heard him.

Ludwig sighed. He had gathered enough from his father's heated words to know that Gilbert wasn't in a sober state. He supposed he'd have to be patient.

"Come on," he said again, pulling Gilbert to his feet. Gilbert stood stiffly.

Ludwig managed to coax his brother up the stairs, guiding him with both hands. He went to his own room and sat Gilbert on the bed.

"Hold on just a sec. I'll get an icepack."

Ludwig was back upstairs in an instant, worrying over his brother and trying to get him to hold the icepack to his face.

Once Gilbert had cooperated enough to press the pack to the visibly red mark on his pale skin, Ludwig sat next to him, unsure what to do.

He wanted to comfort Gilbert, but didn't know how. What could he say? _Sorry Dad hit you? Sorry Dad took everything out on you, like he always does?_ He wished he could make his father apologize. He wished he could have stopped it before it happened. He felt sick to his stomach.

Ludwig couldn't forgive his father for this. But he could understand his anger. What Gilbert had said, even if he didn't mean it… well, Gilbert always knew which buttons to push to really set someone off. Especially their father. And after what Ludwig had learned just earlier that night—why did Gilbert have to choose to bring _that_ up? He'd never dared to in any argument before.

But then, Gilbert wasn't in his right mind at the moment. Ludwig had to wonder how much had been the alcohol or whatever drug talking, and how much the real Gilbert. How high had he been anyway? How high was he now?

Ludwig was just about to venture asking his brother how he felt when Gilbert spoke.

"He wishes she took me with her." It was barely more than a whisper.

Ludwig wasn't entirely sure if the statement was directed at him; Gilbert was still staring at the opposite wall. "What?" he asked uneasily.

"Dad. He wishes Mom had taken me with her."

Ludwig hesitated. "Gilbert, look—"

"No, it's okay. I wish she'd taken me with her too."

Ludwig stared at his brother.

"Anything would be better than growing up with that man."

"Gilbert, you don't know that—"

"Yes, I do." Finally Gilbert looked at him. "I do know that, Ludwig. How can you deny it, after what he just did?" Gilbert's jaw was clenched, his eyes hard.

Ludwig looked down at the bedcovers. "It's just—"

"Are you gonna take his side again? Find some excuse for the way he treats me? Huh? Are you? What is it this time, Ludwig? What do I just 'need to understand'?"

Ludwig was taken aback. "Sides? What? Gilbert, it's not about sides—"

"Yes, it is. And you need to decide whose you're on." Gilbert's eyes flared.

Ludwig was speechless. Finally, he managed, "We're… still family…"

Gilbert's face contorted. "How can you say that? You saw what happened back there. You saw!"

Yes, Ludwig had seen. He still couldn't process it. His father had hit his brother. It was inexcusable. It ought to be simple. But knowing what he knew now, he realized just how harsh Gilbert's words to their father had been. But Gilbert wouldn't listen to him if he said so now.

Ludwig sighed. "I know. I know, Gilbert. And I'm not going to make any excuses. There aren't any. It's just… what do you know about our mother?"

Gilbert furrowed his brow. "I've told you everything I know like, a million times."

"So… Dad never told you why she left?"

Gilbert eyed his brother warily. "No… Why?"

Ludwig licked his lips anxiously. "She… she left him—left us—to be with a woman."

Gilbert blinked. "How do you know?"

"Dad told me."

"When?"

"Earlier tonight. While you were out. He got this old album out and was looking at pictures. He told me how they met and stuff, and… how it ended."

Gilbert stared at him incredulously. The shine in his eyes betrayed the threat of tears.

"She was gay?" he asked softly.

Ludwig shrugged. "Or bi, or something."

Gilbert looked away. A single tear escaped down his cheek. Ever so softly, he murmured, "She would have understood…"

Ludwig sighed. "Gilbert, it doesn't mean anything. She never contacted us—"

"It means everything!" said Gilbert fiercely. "My mother is out there living with a woman, and I get stuck with my homophobic dad my whole life!"

"Gilbert, we don't even know that! We don't have a clue what she's doing now, what her life is like, what our lives would have been like if we lived with her! Gilbert, Dad told me, she had mood swings, she was depressed—"

"I'd take that over an emotionally constipated disciplinarian bigot of a father!" spat Gilbert.

Ludwig looked at him helplessly. "Gilbert, just… there's no use thinking about 'what-ifs'. It's not going to do any good. And… I just think, it's not a good idea to bring up Mom. Dad is still kinda in denial about it all. It's really painful for him—Not that that's an excuse!" he added quickly at his brother's perturbed look. "It's not an excuse. I'm just saying, that's all."

Gilbert scowled. "Why should I care about his feelings? He's never cared about mine."

Ludwig grimaced, but dared not answer. And what could he say, after what his father had done?

Gilbert looked at him intently. "I need you on my side, Ludwig."

Ludwig's lips parted. He was silent a moment, pinned to the spot by his brother's gaze. He felt like it was a challenge, or a test, and he wanted so desperately to pass.

"I am on your side," he breathed at last. "I've always been on your side, Gilbert."

Gilbert didn't say anything. Still staring at his brother, he set the icepack down on Ludwig's nightstand. Then he leaned forward and pressed their lips together, hard.

Ludwig didn't respond for a moment. He wasn't sure he wanted this just now. Gilbert seemed fairly sober, but Ludwig still wanted to be ticked off at him for getting high. With his new friend Lovino no less. And Gilbert's tone, talking about their father, made him nervous. He didn't want this conversation to be over, and yet, he knew there was no talking sensibly with his brother just now.

Slowly, he sank into the heat of the kiss. He yielded when Gilbert's tongue probed demandingly at his lips, and swiftly his mouth was conquered with tongue and teeth.

The sudden intensity was overwhelming, but Ludwig was pliant and cooperative. He knew Gilbert probably needed reassurance, comfort, after the incident downstairs. Ludwig let himself be pushed down onto the pillow as his brother crawled on top of him, never breaking contact with his lips.

It was liquid, humid, harsh. Gilbert's tongue swirled frantically around Ludwig's, pressing so hard against him it was difficult for Ludwig to breathe. All he felt was smooth slipperiness and the clash of teeth.

Even when Gilbert broke for air, his mouth barely left Ludwig's. They breathed in each other's hot breath, gasping and panting already. Gilbert's hard body writhed over Ludwig's as if urgently trying to find the way they best fit together. Hot and suddenly sensitive, Ludwig desperately pushed back against him.

Soon Gilbert's hands slipped under Ludwig's shirt to press into his muscled stomach. Ludwig shuddered at the touch, clinging helplessly to his brother's shirt. Gilbert's mouth trailed sloppily down Ludwig's jaw to press against his neck, open and panting, before returning to pull violently at his lips.

Then Gilbert began nipping. It wasn't much at first: just a tiny pinch of the teeth, almost playful. He returned to sucking at Ludwig's jaw, but with a scrape of teeth this time. Then down to his neck, laving it with his tongue and taking skin between his teeth, squeezing nearly hard enough to leave a mark.

Ludwig hissed at the slight stings, but didn't pull away. The sharp sensations were a welcome shock to his system; he wanted to feel _more_. His hips rubbed at Gilbert's with abandon, and in return Gilbert pressed his groin down hard. Ludwig could feel the softness between his brother's legs grow firmer, and the knowledge that he was getting hard to this sent pleasure singing through Ludwig's gut.

Their breathing was harsh as they grinded together, Gilbert daring to bite just a little harder each time his teeth met Ludwig's skin. His hands groped greedily at Ludwig's chest and sides, fingers pressing hard into firm muscles. Each imprint of each fingertip was a brand to Ludwig, insistent and burning. He shivered at the hot pulses they sent to his groin.

Suddenly Gilbert sat up, straddling his brother, and pulled Ludwig's shirt up with impatient hands. Before Ludwig's limbs were free of the garment, Gilbert was back down on him, mouthing along his collarbone. Ludwig suppressed a groan at the sweet sensation.

And then, Gilbert was at his throat. But he didn't move. He simply placed his teeth gently around Ludwig's Adam's apple, and stayed there. Ludwig gasped slightly, automatically tilting his head back—exposing his vulnerable neck rather than protecting. He could feel his pulse throbbing in the veins there.

Gilbert began to squeeze. Slowly, his teeth pressed into the tender skin over Ludwig's windpipe. Ludwig didn't move. He didn't swallow, he barely dared breathe—only shallow, rapid breaths.

It didn't hurt, exactly. Not yet. But it was the threat of pain that kept Ludwig transfixed. Tighter and tighter Gilbert pressed, slowly, inexorably, until finally, just when Ludwig thought he wouldn't be able to breathe any more, he stopped. He simply held his teeth there, barely constricting Ludwig's throat.

Ludwig thought his heart might give out, it was beating so rapidly. He'd never felt so alert, so tense in every fiber of his being, in his life. Sweat beaded on his skin—he was much too warm. The odd thought struck him that, should Gilbert want to, he could kill him in an instant. A snap of the jaw, like some wild dog; it was all it would take. He had a vision of Gilbert, bloody-mouthed and snarling, that made him tremble with a perverse mix of fear and pleasure.

Ludwig realized with a pang of shame how incredibly hard he was. But he dared not move, he dared not try to rub his erection against his brother's through their jeans for a moment of sweet relief. He dared not even squirm in his discomfort. Gilbert had him trapped. He had him so completely, through this one simple press of teeth. But the thing was, Ludwig wasn't sure he wanted to escape.

And then it was over. Gilbert pulled away, and Ludwig took a gulp of air.

Gilbert was looking down at him with the most unreadable expression. Ludwig stared back, a million questions stuck just behind his teeth.

But Gilbert didn't give him time to articulate any of them. In an instant, his hot mouth was back over Ludwig's, tugging at his lips before darting down to his neck. This time, he bit for real.

"Ah!" Ludwig gasped, but it was soon smothered with a groan as his brother began rubbing against him with new relentless intensity. Ludwig barely managed to gather his thoughts enough to whimper, "Don't leave a mark…"

But Gilbert simply pressed his fingers against Ludwig's mouth and ground down harder against his erection.

Ludwig jerked his head up against the fingers over his open, panting mouth. He drew one in and was sucking in desperation when he felt another bite and harsh suction against his collarbone. Somehow in his distracted mind the pain was converted to pleasure, and it took all the self-control he could muster not to cry out. At least this mark wouldn't be visible with a shirt on.

And then, _oh God_ , Gilbert was at his nipples. Ludwig bucked helplessly as Gilbert took them into his mouth in turns, biting around the entire areola and sucking harder than Ludwig had thought humanly possible. In any other state, Ludwig knew that this would hurt like hell, but aroused as he was, it was unbearable ecstasy. He whined and squirmed against Gilbert, _needing_ more friction and _God_ why couldn't he take off his goddamn pants…

Gilbert's breath was ragged and harsh as it puffed moistly against Ludwig's fevered skin. The thrusts of his clothed hips were more needy, less precise, and his hands dug into Ludwig's sides so hard that Ludwig could feel the ache in his ribs.

Gilbert's head fell forward onto Ludwig's chest, their combined sweat making for slippery contact. Ludwig's hands scrabbled at Gilbert's shirt as he pressed back into his brother's groin as hard as he could, because he was so fucking close he just needed a little _more—_

With a guttural growl, Gilbert latched his teeth onto Ludwig's skin just below the nipple. Ludwig nearly shouted at the shock of pain—this wasn't like the other bites. Gilbert wasn't sucking; he was sinking his teeth into his flesh.

Ludwig's mouth fell open in a silent wail as his every muscle tensed. His stomach was burning, his cock was throbbing, and Gilbert's teeth were blunt knives pressing in harder, _harder_ as Gilbert jerked violently against him. Ludwig kept expecting him to let go—but he didn't. The pain grew and grew and Ludwig wanted to say something, wanted pull away, but he couldn't, not when he was so so nearly there—

With a gasp of agony and bliss, Ludwig came. He felt the warm stickiness of his underwear clinging to his groin as his hips stuttered through the orgasm. But relief lasted only a second. Pain cut through the afterglow as Gilbert refused to release the torturously pinched flesh. Ludwig gasped in surprise at how much it hurt, and yet his every muscle remained locked in place.

All of a sudden, Gilbert pulled Ludwig against him with such force it took Ludwig's breath away. With a groan around a mouthful of flesh, Gilbert spilled, clenching his jaw as he convulsed. Ludwig gave a short, strangled howl of pain at the burning sting in his skin.

Gilbert collapsed against him. His jaw relaxed, but he didn't move, and Ludwig felt with certainty that Gilbert's teeth were still lodged in the aching welts on his chest. This was confirmed when Gilbert groggily pulled away, and Ludwig hissed with pain as his teeth withdrew from their marks.

He looked down at his chest in a state of shock. He could see blood pearling up from the tiny wounds, quickly forming a rivulet that trickled down the slope of his ribs and would have stained the blankets, had Ludwig not grabbed a tissue from the nightstand just in time to catch it.

He glanced up at Gilbert in distress. But Gilbert seemed more stunned than he. He gazed at the bright red blood as if he had never seen the substance before. His lips were smeared with it.

Ludwig wanted to say something, but he couldn't think what. He wasn't even sure how he felt. Angry? Betrayed? Confused, certainly, but more than that… ashamed. Gilbert had _hurt_ him, but Ludwig had _let_ him. Maybe he had even… wanted him to.

Gilbert blinked, and seemed to wake from his daze. He stood quickly, suddenly alert and agile, and pulled Ludwig up from the bed.

"C'mon," he muttered, and led Ludwig by the hand into the hallway and to the bathroom.

Ludwig trailed limply behind. He felt like a child, lost and bewildered, putting all his trust in the man walking before him to lead him to safety.

Gilbert shut the door in the bathroom and quickly removed his soiled pants. Ludwig followed suit, glad to be rid of the uncomfortably wet garment.

When Gilbert turned to Ludwig, he didn't look at his face; he just scrutinized the ring of nasty marks on Ludwig's chest. Ludwig stood dumbly, unsure what to do. He watched his brother lean in close, examining the damage with a completely expressionless face. Then he glanced up at Ludwig, eyes searching.

Ludwig wasn't sure if Gilbert found whatever he was looking for, but his eyes dropped back to Ludwig's chest and he stepped in closer. His hands hovered at Ludwig's sides a moment before his arms moved to encircle him.

He held him like that, in a lover's embrace, for a long moment: their naked pelvises touching, chests mere inches apart as Gilbert gazed down at the oozing blood. Then, very slowly, he lowered his head towards it.

For one confused second Ludwig thought Gilbert was going to kiss it better like a boo-boo. Instead, a pink tongue flicked out and lapped at the scarlet smear.

Ludwig inhaled sharply. He watched in astonishment as Gilbert gently—so gently, not at all like before—closed his lips over the smarting wound, and began to suck.

Ludwig's stomach flipped, but he wasn't sure whether it was in disgust or thrill. This was wrong. It was so wrong—God was he _drinking_ it? What was he doing?

But it felt… good. It took away the pain, like sucking on a paper cut. Ludwig's heart thumped wildly. He trembled, thinking _I should stop this, he needs to stop this isn't okay this isn't normal_ , yet unable to move. Unwilling.

Finally Gilbert lifted his head, and Ludwig winced at the immediate return of the burning sensation of the lesion. He looked at Gilbert with chagrin, and shuddered in horror to see his blood streaked down his chin. Gilbert stared blankly at the bite mark.

With sudden efficiency of action, Gilbert moved to the sink and spit out red saliva. He spared just one glance for himself in the mirror before hastily scrubbing his face clean and rinsing his mouth. Then he turned to Ludwig.

"Get in the tub," he said softly but firmly, not meeting his eyes.

Ludwig obeyed without thinking.

Gilbert reached into the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He came and knelt next to the tub and unscrewed the cap.

"Lean back."

Ludwig did.

Gilbert poured copious amounts of the liquid over the wound; Ludwig hissed at the odd bubbling sensation, but at least it didn't sting.

When Gilbert had emptied probably about half the bottle, he set it down and wet a washcloth with which to dab away the drying blood around the mark.

Ludwig watched his brother's impassive face, looking for any sign of emotion. He needed to understand what had just happened. It was so far from any other experience—it didn't fit with his reality. In Ludwig's world, his brother didn't bite him and drink his blood after. Who even did that outside of vampire novels? But Gilbert had. And Ludwig had let him.

And now he was letting Gilbert tend to him, and something about the whole thing felt so wrong and yet he couldn't move. His insides were a churning mess, but all he could do was lay there, anchored by his heavy limbs, and look to Gilbert for a sign, anything, like a drowning man hopes for a line thrown to him.

Gilbert's brow furrowed as he worked, somehow seeming both attentive and distant at the same time. And then there it was—Ludwig could see it. A certain sheen in his eye that betrayed him: fear. Gilbert was desperately trying to cover it up, to force it down, but Ludwig saw it.

He pondered this a moment. Was his brother afraid he had done some irreparable damage? The bite was bad, but it would heal. Ludwig was fairly sure it wouldn't scar, either. Or… was Gilbert afraid that he'd do this again?

Had Gilbert, liked it? What if he did want to do it again? Tomorrow night, every night? Ludwig shivered at the thought; but to his surprise, it was a shiver more of excitement than fear—though the two could be so difficult to distinguish. Maybe they were really the same thing.

Yes, he was certain, he decided. If Gilbert wanted to again, Ludwig would let him.

With a start, he realized that he would allow Gilbert anything. Anything Gilbert wanted to do to him. Maybe Gilbert had realized it, too. Maybe that was why he looked so damn scared. More scared than Ludwig even.

Gilbert was scared of himself.

The realization came crashing down on Ludwig. This was what they had come to. This was how far he had sunk—that he would deny his own needs to gratify his brother. That he was such a slave to Gilbert's approval. But even the realization did not make him wish to break free. He simply wanted, above all things, to make his brother happy.

But Gilbert was not happy. Far from it. And it was all Ludwig's doing. He'd brought them here. To a dead-end of self-loathing.

And yet, he supposed the ironic part was that it wasn't really an end. They would go on; even in this self-aware state he would continue to seek Gilbert out. And Gilbert, Ludwig hoped—and he hated himself for hoping—would continue to need Ludwig. To use him however he wished. Ludwig needed to be needed.

He was surprised to feel the sting of tears in his eye. It was difficult to breathe.

He laughed, strangled and joyless. Gilbert paused his ministrations and looked at him, probably in alarm.

"God, we're really fucked up, aren't we?" choked Ludwig. A ragged grin stretched his lips. God, why was he smiling?

Gilbert didn't answer. He merely went back to carefully wiping Ludwig clean.

And Ludwig couldn't take it any more. He burst out sobbing, great heaving sobs. He blubbered through his tears, unable to stem the flow. It was so embarrassing, sitting there naked in the tub crying like a baby, and some detached part of himself knew that and was telling him to pull himself together, but he couldn't. Why was he even crying? The bite would heal. Gilbert still loved him and was caring for him. So what the hell was wrong with him?

Gilbert put down the washcloth. Before Ludwig understood what he was doing, he was in the bathtub, squeezing in behind Ludwig, and pulling him into his arms. Ludwig went without resistance.

Gilbert held him like that a long time, rocking gently, until at last Ludwig's sobs subsided.

When Ludwig could breathe normally (through his mouth—his nose was all stuffy and red), Gilbert patted him on the shoulder and stood again.

"Let's get you patched up." There was no lightness, not even a forced cheerfulness, in his tone.

Gilbert cut gauze and tape to the proper size and gingerly covered the bite mark. Ludwig was silent and despondent as he let himself be taken care of. He felt too drained to do anything else.

Finally Gilbert was done, and he led them both back to Ludwig's bedroom. He made sure to lock the door before he turned out the lights and they crawled into bed together, naked.

Once his head hit the pillow, Ludwig realized just how exhausted he was. He tried desperately not to let his muddled thoughts slip away—they needed sorting. But it was so difficult, and Gilbert's hands were so warm and soft against his skin. And in spite of everything, he felt safe there in his arms, because no matter what Gilbert did he would always take care of him. Yes, Ludwig thought as he drifted into sleep, maybe he really didn't mind giving himself up to his brother so completely.

His only worry was that perhaps Gilbert didn't want that sort of power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Sebastian makes a disturbing find, and the boys head back to school; but can things go back to the way they were?


	15. Chapter 11

Sebastian did not sleep well. He tossed and turned, unable to calm his restless mind. Anger and anxiety did not mix well.

He thought of Gilbert: the way his lip curled just like Maria's when he sneered. He thought of Ludwig: the way he had darted forward towards his brother in utter horror. He thought of the scene on the couch, only earlier that day: Gilbert, leaning over, _touching_ Ludwig like that with that smirk on his face…

The knot in Sebastian's gut tightened. He shifted in his bed, pulling the duvet up around him and trying to get comfortable.

He didn't sleep well at all.

But come morning, he was up and about his chores as usual. It was useless to try to stay in bed and sleep in when his thoughts were in such disarray. He often found that physical order facilitated mental order, and so he resolved to do a thorough cleaning of the house.

He left his sons' rooms alone. Those they could take care of themselves. He did reorganize the upstairs closet though, careful not to make too much noise. He didn't much feel like waking his sons and having to confront them just yet.

Sebastian made his way to the bathroom to wipe the counter, and was surprised to find a couple pairs of pants lying on the floor. He thought it odd; usually his sons were at least tidy about that sort of thing. And he could easily identify one pair as Gilbert's and the other as Ludwig's.

Sebastian scowled as he picked them up to throw them in the hamper, then bent down to collect the boxers that accompanied them.

He blinked in startled embarrassment when he spotted a familiar and relatively fresh looking stain on one pair. He stopped short when he spotted its twin on the other.

Sebastian awkwardly stood holding the underwear, his face much to hot. He berated himself for being so flustered about it; it wasn't as though this were the first time he had found evidence of his sons masturbating in all his years as a father. And yet…

His stomach rolled queasily. This was too much to be a coincidence. Both his sons' boxers, left in the same place at apparently the same time…

Something wasn't right.

He threw the underwear into the hamper with the jeans and made his way out to the hall. His heart was in his throat.

He stopped before Ludwig's door and wiped sweaty palms on his pants before grasping the doorknob with tentative fingers.

He tried to convince himself that he wasn't prying, that he wasn't spying. It was just a quick peek—the kind any parent might do to check up on a child.

But he knew his sons weren't children any more.

Before he could change his mind, Sebastian gently, silently turned the knob—

It wouldn't budge.

Sebastian stared, incredulous.

He had enforced a no-locked-doors policy since the boys were little. He supposed he didn't have much right to hold them to it anymore, but still. What would possess Ludwig to lock his door?

What did he have to hide?

Sebastian looked down the hallway to Gilbert's closed door, filled with uneasiness.

He was being paranoid, he told himself. Still, he swiftly made his way to the other end of the hall. Before he could stop himself, he swung open the door, both hoping and dreading to find Gilbert—and only Gilbert—inside.

But the room was empty.

The gears in Sebastian's mind had already clicked into place.

Either Gilbert was gone, or he was behind that locked door with Ludwig.

…

The creak of bedsprings penetrated the fog of sleep enveloping Ludwig's brain. He stirred groggily, only to immediately regret it—the sheets rubbing over his tender nipples were enough to make him hiss.

The pain made him more alert, however. He blinked his eyes open to see Gilbert, poised on the edge of the mattress to stand up.

Gilbert was looking back at him.

The gaze was inscrutable and cool, yet Ludwig's eyes darted away as if scorched by the contact. Suddenly all too cognizant of his naked state, Ludwig surreptitiously drew his sheet up, covering at least a few of the stark reminders of last night's activities that were branded on his chest.

He could still feel Gilbert's eyes on him. He swallowed. What came next? How were you supposed to act on this sort of morning after? With an inward grimace, Ludwig remembered that there were no rules to follow here, no protocol for interactions with your brother after a sadomasochistic incestuous encounter.

"Morning." Gilbert's scratchy voice pulled Ludwig from his thoughts.

Involuntarily, he glanced back at his brother. "Morning," he responded automatically.

That was so normal. Way too normal. Gilbert had bitten him and literally sucked his blood from the wound roughly six hours ago, and now all he had to say was "morning."

Gilbert rose and shuffled to the door. "Going to get dressed," he mumbled. Without another glance at Ludwig he left, closing the door behind him.

Ludwig stared at the door, trying and failing to fully process the situation. He propped himself up on his elbows and glanced around his room. It was surreal, seeing everything in place as it had been for years. That, too, was disconcertingly normal. How could such insane things transpire in innocent, ordinary rooms like this? With daylight streaming in through the blinds it didn't seem possible. The dusty sunrays made it difficult to conjure up darker memories.

And yet there it was: the bandage on his chest. Ludwig touched it gingerly. It stung just a little—would probably take a while to heal.

 _Shit._ How was he going to hide this from Angie? From Feliciano, or anyone else who might see him dressing? What explanation could he give?

The other marks dotting his neck and shoulders he hoped would disappear within a couple of days. He'd have to wear a turtleneck for now though.

With a sigh, he hefted himself out of bed and staggered to his bureau to find a suitable shirt. Once dressed, he made his way to the bathroom, testing how best to walk without moving his chest too much; even the soft cotton of the shirt made his nipples ache on contact.

Gilbert, fully clothed, was already in the bathroom, staring into the closet with a perplexed expression.

"Hey Lud, did you… put our stuff in the laundry basket last night?"

Ludwig blinked. He wasn't sure what he'd expected their first topic of conversation for the day to be, but he was sure the laundry wasn't it.

"Uh… no?"

Ludwig followed Gilbert's gaze, and saw why he asked. The pants and boxers they'd left on the floor were now lying in the hamper.

"…Shit," muttered Gilbert.

Ludwig licked his lips, mind churning.

"It's okay, you know Dad," he tried to reason. "He sees something out of place, he puts it where it goes. It's not like it's unusual for guys to leave clothes on the floor. He probably… didn't think anything of it."

Gilbert barely heard him. He shut the closet door slightly harder than necessary.

"What the fuck is he doing in our bathroom," he growled.

Ludwig didn't have an answer, but luckily Gilbert didn't seem to expect one, since he turned to his sink and started aggressively brushing his teeth. Ludwig followed suit, albeit with more consideration for his gums.

He watched Gilbert in the mirror as they brushed. Gilbert, however, was apparently dedicated to the "we're going to pretend last night never happened" line.

With a start, Ludwig wondered if his brother even remembered. What if it had been lost somewhere in his high, drunken haze?

Just then, Gilbert spat into the sink and indicated Ludwig's chest with his toothbrush. "You should get that checked at Health Services," he said, more nonchalantly than if he had been suggesting an entrée off a menu. "Human bites. Pretty high chance of infection."

Ludwig nodded dumbly as Gilbert gargled a mouthful of water. "…Uh, right. Okay." How did Gilbert even know that? And how could he be so apathetic about it? Was he at least going to apologize?

…Not that Ludwig was sure he wanted an apology. After all, what had Gilbert done _wrong_ , exactly? He hadn't done anything against Ludwig's (tacit) permission.

But it still felt odd. As if Gilbert shouldn't have the right to act this way—not when Ludwig was sore and hurting.

Even if, in a way, Ludwig liked the hurt. The reminder.

Gilbert left the bathroom without another word. Ludwig dared to examine himself more closely in the mirror.

He lifted his shirt and counted the number of visible marks on his skin. One on the neck, one on the shoulder, two on the collarbone, one on the pec: with the bandaged bite that made six.

Ludwig touched the gauze with trembling fingers. He grimaced at the dull stab of pain that accompanied the slight pressure, but didn't remove his hand. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he pressed harder. The pain grew sharper, insistent, until he could feel the same ache behind his teeth he'd felt the night before when Gilbert was latched onto his skin, as if his mouth were there again, marking him anew. Ludwig forced himself to keep pressing, jaw clenched and muscles taught. Something stirred in his belly, half-sickened by the pain, half-aroused—until he had to let go.

He was sweating. The wound smarted.

It made Ludwig… not happy, exactly. But oddly reassured. Content, sated—for the moment.

How messed up was that.

Ludwig quickly tucked the thought away in the back of his mind and splashed his face at the sink. He was a healthy, intelligent, functioning nineteen-year-old boy. It was just curiosity—yes, that was it. He had only been curious about how much it would hurt to touch. A simple test of his pain-threshold. A completely natural thing to wonder about. It wasn't as if he really wanted to feel Gilbert's teeth sinking into his flesh again. It wasn't as if he _liked_ pain.

He heard Gilbert's footsteps returning and carefully composed his features in a neutral expression just on time for his brother to appear in the doorway.

"Hey Lud." Gilbert didn't look at him as he spoke. "I was thinking. Uh, I know we planned on driving back tomorrow, but… I kinda got some stuff to get done on campus, thought it might be better to get back a little early. Okay with you if we head back today?"

Ludwig observed his brother in the mirror. He knew that wasn't the reason Gilbert wanted to leave early, but he couldn't blame his brother for not wanting to be around their father at the moment. In fact, Ludwig wasn't sure how he would survive being caught between the two of them for another day either.

"Sure. I have a lot of homework to get done—doesn't matter to me if I do it here or at school."

Gilbert nodded. "Cool. Thanks." He turned to go, but hesitated. "Um… I was gonna, uh, pack up some stuff in my room… Could you, maybe, bring up some toast for me or something?"

"Yeah, of course." Again, not the real reason Gilbert didn't want to go downstairs, but Ludwig knew it was better that Gilbert not risk running into their father anyway.

"Thanks." Gilbert nodded again, and disappeared back into his room.

Ludwig combed his hair back haphazardly and made his way downstairs, hoping his father was in his study or out back.

No such luck. He was seated at the table, staring down at his coffee cup. He didn't glance up when Ludwig entered the room.

"Morning," Ludwig muttered awkwardly as he passed by on his way to the kitchen, only because he thought it would be more awkward not to say anything.

His father nodded almost imperceptibly in return.

Relieved that he wasn't going to be drawn into a lengthier exchange, Ludwig quickly procured toast and coffee for him and his brother, wanting to get back upstairs as soon as possible.

He was about to accomplish just that, two mugs and a plate balanced in his hands, when his father cleared his throat.

"Ludwig."

Ludwig stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked back in trepidation.

"Could you please tell your brother that I'd like to speak with him. In my study." Without a glance at his son, Sebastian rose, drained his coffee cup, and headed down the hall to his inner sanctum.

_Shit._

…

Ludwig was nearly finished packing his suitcase when he finally heard movement downstairs. Raised voices had occasionally carried up to his ears while Gilbert was in the study, but they were too muffled for Ludwig to make out the words. Now it sounded like their talk was finally over.

Ludwig went to the top of the stairs, waiting uncertainly. He could hear footsteps—Gilbert's—but was surprised when they turned to the back of the house rather than towards the stairs. The sliding door to the porch opened and closed with a _bang_.

It was silent after that; his father hadn't followed.

Ludwig hesitated. He had hoped his father had wanted to apologize, but if that were the case it didn't sound like it had gone too well. Perhaps Gilbert wanted to be alone right now. But Gilbert tended to do stupid things when he was alone and emotional. Maybe Ludwig could at least calm him down a bit, or comfort him. Maybe he would want that, rather than stewing and brooding.

It was no good for his brother to be alone.

Ludwig hurried down the steps and slipped on his shoes and jacket. It wasn't until he stepped outside that he realized how heavy the previous night's snowfall had been. It was only a few inches, but it was the first real snow of the year. Ludwig remembered with a pang how he and Gilbert used to insist on going sledding after the first snowfall each autumn. It had been tradition, and so they went, even if there was only an inch on the ground and they had to push each other practically the whole way down the hill.

Ludwig's eyes fell on a set of tracks that disturbed the pristine blanket of white just covering the tips of dying grass. They led to the woods that started at the edge of the yard.

Ludwig followed them, jogging to catch up. He tried to ignore the pain in his nipples and under the bandage, but moving so much made it difficult. It wasn't long before he found Gilbert though, at the foot of the slope away from the houses along their street, where a streambed that was dry most of the year carved a natural path. Gilbert was tromping downstream.

He must have heard Ludwig come up behind him, but he didn't turn. He simply kept on walking resolutely, winding his way out of sight from the tree-obscured houses above.

Ludwig trailed along behind, wondering when his brother would acknowledge him. The streambed was too narrow to get past or walk next to him, so finally Ludwig reached out to touch his shoulder.

"Gilbert."

Gilbert stopped.

"Gilbert, look at me."

Gilbert didn't move.

"Please."

Slowly, Gilbert turned, his gaze lowered.

Ludwig held his breath, uncertain what to say. He was dying to know what their father had wanted to talk about, but he hardly dared bring it up.

"Are you… alright?" he finally managed, weakly.

Gilbert looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Alright?" He gave a humorless laugh. "Oh sure, besides the fact that my own father just threatened to disown me? Yeah, I'd say I'm doing grand!"

"Wait, _what?_ "

The bitter smile hardened into a cold grimace on Gilbert's face. "You heard me."

"Wh—how—" Ludwig spluttered, lost for words. "Over the drugs?!"

Gilbert crossed his arms—or maybe he was hugging himself. "Oh, he had a few choice words about that. But no. Not the drugs," he said quietly, staring over Ludwig's shoulder.

Ludwig implored him with his eyes for an explanation. This was extreme, even for their father.

Finally, Gilbert met his gaze again. "He's seen stuff, Lud." His voice sounded as if he were speaking around a wad of cotton balls in his throat.

Ludwig's brow furrowed, not comprehending.

Gilbert's lip trembled. He seemed on the verge of angry tears when suddenly he burst out, "He thinks I'm molesting you." His voice cracked on the last word.

They stood staring at each other, their heavy breaths puffing into clouds in the chill air between them. Gilbert's hard eyes were red-rimmed, his mouth barely open and drawn down at the corners. Ludwig's expression was pure shock.

Ludwig blinked, trying to clear his head. How—how the hell could his father think that?

"That's ridiculous. I'll just go back up and talk to him myself." Ludwig gestured vaguely the way they had come. "I'll tell him it's not true—"

"No. He'd just think you're trying to protect me." Gilbert was resolute.

"But—what did you say?" asked Ludwig, still dumbfounded.

Gilbert's shoulders shifted in an almost imperceptible shrug. "Told him he was imagining things. Told him… I could never do that." His voice, already hoarse, dropped to a whisper. "Hurt you."

Suddenly the wound on Ludwig's chest decided to give a sharp twinge. Ludwig cringed.

"Did he… believe you?"

"…I'm not sure," conceded Gilbert, defeat written in the lines of his face and drooping shoulders. "But he said if he found out I was lying he would disown me, so help him God." His voice was oddly distant.

Ludwig's heart pounded in his throat. "But, you aren't lying. You aren't." And he could convince his father of that, and everything would be fine.

Gilbert's eyes pierced him. "Are you sure?"

Ludwig frowned. "What's that supposed to mean? Of course I'm sure. You're not molesting me, Gilbert. You're not—hurting me." He swallowed heavily.

Gilbert looked away.

Ludwig knew he had to say something to allay Gilbert's fears. He had to lay to rest the doubt in both their minds.

He stepped closer, speaking softly. "Gilbert… If I had wanted you to stop last night…"

"Would I have?" Gilbert finished bitterly.

Ludwig started. "That's not what I was going to say! I was going to say—you would have known. I would have said so. And… you would have stopped. I know you would."

Ludwig searched his brother's countenance desperately for confirmation, but Gilbert kept his face downturned, features shadowed.

"Gilbert… don't let him get to you. Just because he's suspicious doesn't mean he's right. You're not doing anything I don't want you to."

Gilbert pulled away, laughing that acrimonious laugh again. "Yeah, and if I—I dunno, if I wanted to asphyxiate you, you'd let me? If I wanted to tie you up till your skin was raw? You want that too?" His voice rose hysterically as he stepped closer again. "Want me to whip you, cut you? Where the fuck are you gonna draw the line?!"

Ludwig stumbled back. His voice was stuck in his throat, his eyes stung and why was Gilbert talking to him like this—

Gilbert grabbed the front of Ludwig's jacket and Ludwig tensed; but a moment later Gilbert's head fell forward onto Ludwig's chest and he simply stayed there, slumped against him.

Ludwig waited a moment, unsure what to do. Then he awkwardly brought his arms around his brother in a half-hearted attempt at comfort.

Then he heard sniffling. Gilbert was crying, he realized.

"I'm sorry," came the muffled sob. "I'm sorry Lud, I don't…" He lifted his head to gaze blearily into his brother's face. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sorry. I didn't—It won't happen again, I promise, I promise—"

"Gilbert, Gilbert, it's okay, don't worry, please, I didn't—I didn't mind," Ludwig stuttered, anxious to give Gilbert the absolution he seemed to need so badly. He couldn't have his brother blaming himself when Ludwig could have—perhaps should have—stopped it. "I told you, I told you I would have stopped you, it's okay, I'm fine—"

"But why didn't you? Why the hell did you let me do that?" persisted Gilbert, hitting the good side of Ludwig's chest with a fist.

Ludwig looked at him helplessly. "I…" He what? "I… wanted… it. Wanted… you, to be happy." He hoped the response didn't sound as lame to Gilbert as it sounded to his own ears.

Gilbert let go of his coat with a groan of frustration. "Stop—being so fucking selfless! What kind of answer is that? Jesus Christ Ludwig, think about yourself for once! I mean, it is so fucking exhausting to have someone else practically living their life for you! Give me a break!"

The silence of the woods rang in Ludwig's ears as the echoes of Gilbert's yells dissipated. He was frozen in place, still as the trees around them. And he wished, for a moment, that he were as insensible as they, that he couldn't feel the ice drop heavily into his stomach at his brother's words.

He couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe. He knew it. He had known it all along, hadn't he? That this was the only way it could end. That he would make his brother hate him. Resent his attachment, his neediness, his devotion that was more than love.

But a second later Gilbert was back at Ludwig's side.

"No, I didn't—I didn't mean it like that, c'mon Lud, that was stupid of me to say…" he was murmuring self-consciously, not meeting his brother's eyes.

Ludwig's knees were jelly, but Gilbert caught him before he sank to the snowy ground and propped him against a tree trunk.

"Hey. Hey, look at me."

It took every ounce of willpower for Ludwig to look his brother in the face. The weight of shame wanted to drag his eyes, his whole being, back down to the earth.

"Forget it. Okay? Forget I ever said that."

Ludwig managed a weak nod, just to appease Gilbert. He knew he would never forget those words.

Gilbert scrutinized his face, as if trying to evaluate his honesty. Ludwig kept his expression carefully neutral.

Finally, Gilbert nodded. "Good. Because it was stupid, y'know? I say stupid stuff when I'm angry. And I'm not really—you're not the one I'm angry at. I shouldn't take it out on you," he finished quietly.

Ludwig grudgingly nodded again.

Gilbert attempted a smile that didn't reach his eyes at all. "What happened to just being happy, huh? We need to go share another joint to get back to that state of enlightenment?"

Ludwig wished he could give a lighthearted rejoinder, but he was drawing a complete blank. He couldn't help but think how pathetic and backwards it was that yet again, Gilbert was the one trying to reassure and comfort him, when Gilbert was the one that their father suspected of terrible things, when Gilbert was the one their father had struck, when Gilbert was the one being threatened with disownment.

And yet here he was, doing what he'd always done: playing big brother. The strong one. Because Ludwig was so pathetically weak and fragile. The needy one, yet again.

"Hey, Lud, let's forget about it, okay? This whole fucking disaster of a vacation. Let's just, get back to school and start over."

 _Start over._ It sounded so easy, the way Gilbert said it. And Ludwig wanted so badly to believe that it could work, so he smiled weakly.

"Yeah, okay."

"Good man."

Gilbert clapped him on the shoulder. It was a brotherly gesture they had enacted hundreds, maybe thousands, of times before. Ludwig remembered how it used to make him feel so grown-up, so mature, for his brother to do that. Now it felt more like mockery. Too patronizing, too… fraternal.

Gilbert helped his brother to his feet, but his eyes were somber and distant. Suddenly, it felt very urgent to Ludwig that Gilbert be with him, here and now, and not wherever his troubled mind was drifting. Before Gilbert could let go of his hand, Ludwig pulled him close and leaned in for a swift kiss. At the last moment though, Gilbert turned his head just an inch, so that Ludwig grazed the corner of his mouth rather than his lips.

Ludwig blinked in surprise. His stomach clenched as Gilbert pulled away with a nervous laugh.

"C'mon lovebird, we gotta go. Sooner the better." Gilbert's expression and tone were awkward. He didn't meet Ludwig's eyes as he turned back up the streambed towards the house.

Ludwig followed, feeling more numb than the moderate cold could account for.

…

Their father did not protest when Ludwig informed him of their plan to depart early. He simply nodded, silently, and turned back to his work. He didn't say goodbye when they left.

They were back on campus before sundown. Ludwig drove; he didn't ask, but he was sure his brother could use the rest. He suggested that Gilbert stay over for the night, since his suitemates wouldn't return until Sunday or Monday, but Gilbert gave him a tired smile and made the excuse that he wanted to get to bed early. Ludwig tried not to show his disappointment.

He spent the evening and most of the next day catching up on the homework he had been neglecting. The realization that he had a number of final papers due in a week or two and exams shortly after that made his stomach roll with dread, and so he holed himself up in the library to catch up on readings.

Every time he picked up his phone to check the time or his email, he found his fingers itching to find Gilbert's name, to call him, even to send a quick text to ask how he was doing. But he resisted the urge. For some reason, he felt it was important that Gilbert make the first move now. After all, hadn't it been Gilbert's idea to start over?

But Gilbert didn't text. He didn't call. Feeling like a stalker, Ludwig even checked his brother's Facebook to see if he'd posted anything recently. But there was nothing.

Finally, late in the afternoon, Ludwig gave in. He sent his brother a text, more out of concern than anything else, he told himself.

_I need a homework break. Hang out tonight?_

It was the perfect combination of logical and casual. Not too desperate, not too brief, and God was he really starting to analyze his texts to his brother as much as his early texts to Angie?

Forty agonizing minutes later, during which Ludwig failed to formulate a thesis statement for his Western Lit paper, his phone buzzed. He grabbed it off the table so violently that a student two desks away glanced at him in alarm.

_Can't. Matt is insisting I have dinner with the fam_

His heart sank. Not even a "sorry."

But Gilbert did say "insisting." That meant he didn't necessarily want to go, right? Maybe he would have rather hung out with Ludwig, but was bound by boyfriend duties?

And there he went again, picking apart the text like a middle schooler with a crush.

Ludwig sighed, staring at his phone screen. Finally he tapped back:

_No worries. Good luck with dinner._

That didn't sound too disappointed, and at the same time it sounded like he was commiserating with Gilbert over being forced to go to through the ordeal of meeting Matt's parents.

Gilbert didn't respond.

After two more fruitless hours staring at his Western Lit notes, Ludwig gave up and packed his bag to head home. Maybe he could at least get some extra sleep tonight, if he wasn't going to see Gilbert.

…

By the time the food arrived on the table, Gilbert was already wondering whether he'd made the right choice. He could have easily wormed his way out of this, as he had before; it would annoy Matt, but if he'd said he'd made prior arrangements, that he'd promised Ludwig something, how could Matt hold it against him?

But on the other hand, an evening alone with Ludwig was really the last thing he could face just now. Maybe even more so than the dreaded "meet the parents" dinner.

Matthew and Alfred's parents were nice enough—in fact, too nice. Their smiles said that by peppering Gilbert with well-intentioned questions about school, work, future plans, they thought they were being helpful. Making Gilbert feel welcome and at ease.

But the opposite was true. With every word he forced from his throat, Gilbert was sure he was only making every lacking aspect of his person all the more glaringly obvious. Proving how unworthy he was to be dating Matthew, the son of a Massachusetts dentist and lawyer with Princeton educations who were accustomed to taking their vacations in the Virgin Islands. He was so nervous he could barely touch the burger he'd ordered from the upscale diner. Mr. and Mrs. Williams-Jones had probably chosen the place because they thought it "casual."

Matthew sensed his boyfriend's distress and laced their fingers together beneath the table. It helped a little bit.

As for Alfred, he seemed oblivious to everything but the swiftly disappearing double cheeseburger in front of him.

"And in this position—I'm sorry, I'm not sure if I completely understand the nature of the organization you'd be working for." Matthew's father narrowed his eyes in a show—and probably just a show, thought Gilbert—of interest.

"Uh, well, I mean, I don't even know if I'll be working for them for sure, but, it's um, a creative collective—basically, offering artists an alternative model for, um, distributing their music…" Gilbert trailed off. 'Creative collective' probably sounded like hippie-stuff to their ears. Obviously not a big money-maker.

"Right," piped up Matt. "Because you know, the current system doesn't reward innovation—because it's all profit-driven. Producers stick to what they know will make the big bucks. Or, so Gil has explained to me." He smiled at his boyfriend and squeezed his hand.

Gilbert simply nodded, unsure if he was supposed to elaborate more.

Matthew's mother broke the silence. "Well, I think that's very brave. It's important for young people to challenge the entrenched systems. It's nice to see someone pursuing what they're passionate about, rather than becoming just another investment banker! God knows we have enough of those flocking to Wall Street." She smiled at Gilbert conspiratorially.

Gilbert attempted a smile in response, but only managed to make himself look like he'd bitten into a particularly piquant jalapeno and was trying not to spit it out.

"You know," broke in Mr. Williams-Jones, "one of my old Princeton buddies ended up in copyright law. Works in the music industry. He's had some big name clients over the years. Cate—or is it Carrie—Underwood, I think was one? Can't remember the others. You'll have to forgive me; we don't really keep up with the contemporary music scene. Alfred here had to tell us who Beyoncé was a couple years ago! Don't ask me to name any of her songs, though." He chuckled as though he'd made a joke.

Gilbert laughed along, but as soon as he heard how unnaturally high-pitched his voice was, he cut himself off immediately.

"And you," Mrs. Williams-Jones nodded at him, "are you musical?"

"Well, I play guitar. Not much, anymore, but." He ended with a quick shrug.

"Guitar!" exclaimed Matt's father. "Hey, you know, our neighbor is actually a concert guitarist. Yeah, we went to see him in two thousand… when was it honey?"

"Two thousand and eight, wasn't it?"

"Yes, yes. In Carnegie Hall! He's world class, they say. I'd believe it! And what kind of music do you play?"

"I was… in a rock band," said Gilbert lamely.

"Oh, I see…" Mr. Williams-Jones raised his eyebrows, nodding slowly.

Silence followed. Gilbert mutely cursed himself for being so fucking awkward and ineloquent, when he needed most to make a good impression.

After a few more false starts on various topics, the Mr. and Mrs. resorted to regaling the table with tales from when their darling boys had been younger, evidently at a loss for how else to fill the gaping holes in conversation Gilbert left with his truncated answers to their questioning.

Suddenly Gilbert was very grateful that Matthew—and Alfred, for that matter—never made a show of his family's comparative wealth and WASP-y milieu; because with their parents there it became painfully apparent to Gilbert just what sort of background his boyfriend came from. What sort of childhood he'd had. Gilbert couldn't consider himself uncultured, having toured his fair share of European museums (on his father's insistence), but he didn't hold a candle to the twins, who'd grown up with weekend visits to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts and the New York Philharmonic. Gilbert could feel himself shrinking in his chair—but not small enough to disappear, unfortunately.

His burger and fries completely devoured, Alfred decided to jump in. "Hey, remember that time Mattie got lost in the Metropolitan?"

Matthew glared at his brother. "I didn't get lost—you guys lost me!"

His mother held up her hands. "Guilty as charged. I thought he was with his father and Al in the Graeco-Roman wing, and they thought he was with me in 19th century painting!"

"Yeah," laughed Alfred. "And we found you next to that big Egyptian temple clutching that stupid bear you used to carry everywhere."

"He's not stupid!" Matthew's voice was high-pitched, the way it got whenever he was angry. "And he has a name. It's Kumajiro."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Yeah. What six-year-old names a bear Kuma—whatsit. Weirdos. That's who."

"It was from a Japanese TV show. And you used to watch it too," huffed Matt.

"I don't remember any Kumarikos or whatever," Al shot back.

Gilbert watched the back and forth between the twins with something akin to fascination. So this was what brothers were supposed to act like. In fact, Gilbert could remember more than a few times that he had teased Ludwig in a similar way. But now… it seemed almost foreign. Like watching another species. The bickering, the taunting, getting under each others' skin in that unique way only siblings could, while under it all retaining that special sort of affection for one another. And suddenly, he realized he didn't know what that felt like anymore.

The revelation hit him like sack of bricks to the gut. Brotherly affection. He couldn't even imagine it. That platonic love he'd once had for his brother—it was impossible to comprehend. How could two people, two peers, love each other like that, teasing and fond, without their feelings being the least bit tinted by romantic or sexual desires? He could see it, right before his eyes, between Matt and Al. And yet, to his horror, he could no longer understand what their relationship really was, what brothers were, without sex.

Gilbert brooded over this for the rest of the meal, struggling to keep a sufficiently pleasant expression on his face. He managed to dodge any more questions as the dessert course came. He let Matthew eat most of the brownie à la mode that they were splitting. When Matthew's parents insisted on paying for his meal at the end, he put up just the appropriate amount of resistance before capitulating and accepting their generosity with gratitude. He smiled through the parting handshakes as Mr. and Mrs. Williams-Jones told him what a pleasure it had been.

Stepping back to let the parents hug their sons goodbye, he felt almost like he was in a movie theater, watching a film play out in front of him. Just a spectator. And they, the wholesome, Hollywood-perfect family. A happy marriage. Parents proud and supportive of their children, even if they hadn't chosen their old Ivy League Alma Mater. And two brothers, neither too distant or rivalrous, nor too close.

Matt convinced him to come back to his room for the night. Sensing that his boyfriend was troubled, Matthew tried to mollify Gilbert by insisting that his parents had loved him. But Gilbert was dwelling on other worries.

As he lay with a warm body in his arms, trying to find sleep, he couldn't stop replaying the simple exchanges between the twins over and over again in his head. As if with repetition he could understand. Get inside their heads. Feel what they were feeling, see what they saw in each other. What he should feel for and see in Ludwig.

But for the life of him, he couldn't.

…

Ludwig scrutinized his face in the mirror. His forehead and nose were too shiny: moist with steam from the shower he'd just finished. His wet hair stuck to his scalp in an unflattering way. God, he could see his pores—was that normal?

He gripped the edges of the sink.

_Come on, Ludwig, stop being such a worrywart._

His eyes dropped down to the bruises peppered over his neck and chest—fading, thankfully.

Except, of course, that one, right below his heart. He inspected it closely, wondering if he ought to go to Health Services the next day or not. It would be awkward as hell trying to explain it, but that would be better than an infection. The wounds still hadn't closed completely.

_Gilbert didn't want to see me tonight._

He allowed himself to mope for a few moments. Then he sighed.

_Get a grip. He loves you. You know that. No matter what's going on right now. He's had it tough recently, just give him time. Then you'll start over, like he said._

His fingers wandered up to a red mark on his neck, tracing it. He closed his eyes and concentrated on remembering the sensation of Gilbert's mouth on him there.

_He loves me._

His eyes opened again, met his own gaze in the mirror. He looked sullen and tired. Nothing attractive about him. Thoroughly unlovable.

In the woods, just yesterday… Gilbert had avoided his kiss. In fact, they hadn't kissed since—when? Not yesterday. No, the night before, when they'd been rutting against each other. Before Gilbert bit him.

His fingers found the tender flesh where the teeth marks still formed a clearly visible red ring.

_Maybe I deserve this._

' _It is so fucking exhausting to have someone else practically living their life for you.'_

_Those were his words._

It was inevitable, he thought. What kind of brother was he to let this happen? To let any of it happen. No, to make it happen. Who was he kidding. From the start—Gilbert hadn't wanted this. He never had. But Ludwig—he had forced him. _Take me this way or lose me_. What kind of brother gave an ultimatum like that? He knew Gilbert would never choose to lose him. He'd known, hadn't he? That he'd get what he wanted in the end; and so he'd gone ahead with it. Selfishly, cruelly, even though it wasn't what Gilbert wanted at all.

And then, when Gilbert had hesitated, shown reluctance—clear signs that he was not okay with it at all, drinking to be able to so much as fucking kiss him—instead of backing off he'd gotten angry. Accused Gilbert of going back on his word. Manipulated him. And Gilbert had gone along with it once again, just as Ludwig had known he would.

He thought of the times they'd sixty-nined in the back of the car, the times they'd fucked against a piano in the practice rooms, the blowjobs in empty classrooms and dark library stacks. He'd thought Gilbert seemed eager at the time. Daring, playful. 'Happy,' like they'd said. But he'd simply been blind to what he didn't want to see. Gilbert had always been so damn good at pretending, too good at turning off his brain, just doing and not thinking, not allowing himself to feel—and Ludwig knew that. So why had he let him?

It had been an act the whole time, hadn't it. An act, all for Ludwig. Gilbert doing anything to make little brother happy, again. He should have known. And maybe he had known, deep down, but he'd hidden that truth from himself, refused to acknowledge it. Because that would mean recognizing the emptiness of the entire thing, every encounter—their very relationship. Recognizing that he was forcing his brother, using him. Hurting him.

And here Gilbert had been worrying about hurting Ludwig.

Ludwig had told himself he was making Gilbert happy, putting that spark and mischief back in his eye; but he was doing just the opposite. When he was upset, Gilbert acted out—did crazy things, broke the rules, just to distract himself from what had gone wrong. And what could be more wrong and upsetting than fucking his own little brother? And what crazier, more against the rules way of acting out than continuing to do just that? Incest. The biggest possible 'fuck you' he could give to their father and to the whole world that he felt had turned its back on him. But it all came back to Ludwig in the end: Ludwig and his selfish manipulations.

It was a little ironic, Ludwig thought; Gilbert had said Ludwig was living his life for him, but maybe it was really the other way around.

And Ludwig couldn't think of anyone less worthy of his brother's devotion.

A sudden shooting pain in his torso yanked him back to the current moment, to realize he had been steadily pressing harder against the wound on his chest. One of the tooth marks had started bleeding again.

"Shit," he hissed.

He bandaged himself back up, but even when he had crawled into bed the bite wouldn't stop smarting. Maybe it was only because he couldn't take his mind off of it. Like a sore that worsens the more you rub at it.

He traced its outline through the gauze taped to his chest, wondering whether it was a sign of his brother's love, or of a secret and deep hatred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally updating this fic in real-time on this site, so chapters will be posted here the same day as I post them to any other sites. Meaning I also should start apologizing for how long I've been inactive with this fic. Hope this chapter makes up for it a little.
> 
> Reviews are incredible motivation for me to keep writing; thank you to everyone who has cared to comment.
> 
> Next chapter: With both boys at the ends of their ropes, Gilbert tries something entirely new. But will it help, or only make matters worse?


	16. Chapter 12

"Ooh, what about this one?" Angie glanced towards Ludwig with wide, shining eyes.

Ludwig strolled over to the cage she was pointing at and took in the bright green plumage of the bird within.

"It's so colorful; it reminds me of some of the birds back home." Angie smiled to herself.

"It is beautiful," Ludwig agreed. "A bit large, though. He needs something that will be easy to take care of, not take up too much space." He glanced at the other cages, full of squawking and the ruffling of feathers.

The shelter volunteer assisting them spoke up. "Who did you say you're looking to adopt for, again?"

"My brother. He's wanted a bird for ages."

"Well, the bird you choose should depend on his schedule and habits. You said easy to take care of—how much time do you think your brother has to actually spend with a bird? More social species need a lot of attention on a daily basis, but there are also more independent birds you can pretty much leave to their own devices."

Ludwig considered a moment. "I'm pretty sure he'd want one he can interact with. He adores animals, so spending time with it definitely isn't a problem. I just meant, I don't want to get him one that's going to live for twenty years or something and be this huge commitment."

The volunteer nodded. "I think we have a bird you might be interested in. He's a budgie—or budgerigar, a small parakeet. Come on back, I'll show him to you." She jerked her head for them to follow and led them through a door behind the front counter.

"We keep him separate from the others 'cause he's a little anxious around other birds. Probably raised alone," she explained. "We just had him brought to us a couple weeks ago by the woman who found him," she continued. "He was clearly trained by his previous owner, but we haven't been able to find them—it's possible for these birds to fly long distances so there's no knowing where he came from. Here's the little guy!"

Ludwig peered through the wiring of the cage at the little bird inside. It was pure, bright yellow, and seemed to peer right back at him with its beady black eyes.

The volunteer opened the cage and offered her hand; the budgie stepped onto her finger with ease.

"His wings haven't been clipped—do you know if your brother…?"

"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't want to clip them."

The volunteer looked relieved. "That's good. It means you do have to watch out, though—these guys are real escape artists. Aren't you?" She smiled and scratched the budgie's head. "That's how you got out in the first place, huh?"

The bird responded with a soft bite to her finger.

"He's been handled by people a lot, so he's used to it. Here, wanna hold him?"

Ludwig held out his finger tentatively. He'd never really understood Gilbert's fondness of birds. Their eyes were too blank and their beaks too sharp for him to feel at ease around them; he much preferred the soulful eyes and soft, moist noses of dogs.

The volunteer extended her hand towards him, but instead of hopping to Ludwig's finger, the bird lifted off and flapped its way right onto Ludwig's shoulder. Ludwig flinched in alarm at the fluttering of wings right next to his face and Angie tittered in amusement.

"I guess he likes you," she teased.

Ludwig didn't appear too pleased, which only made her laugh more. "I think he's cute."

"I guess… Ow!" He jumped in surprise more than pain as the parakeet decided to nip his ear, as if in rebuke.

Angie came to his rescue and held out a finger, which the bird happily accepted.

He glanced apologetically at the volunteer. "My brother likes birds a lot more than I do."

"Well, as long as you're sure he has the time to—"

" _What's up?"_ came a shrill voice.

Angie squealed in delight. "It talks!"

"Yeah, this one's a talker." The volunteer grinned.

"What a precious thing you are…" cooed Angie. "Lud, watch out, or I might steal your brother's parakeet. You better have a good Christmas present planned for me or I'm going to be seriously jealous."

Ludwig knew she was joking, but still a stab of panic shot through his gut. He hadn't even thought about a present for his girlfriend. He plastered on a smile. "Well, this is supposed to be Gilbert's Christmas _and_ birthday present…" he evaded.

Angie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Save your excuses," she grumbled good-naturedly before planting a kiss on the bird's head. She beamed at the volunteer. "He'll take him."

The volunteer looked at Ludwig expectantly.

He watched the budgie lean its head into Angie's finger as she pet him and imagined Gilbert in her place: doting on his new pet, exclaiming at its adorableness and pressing kisses to its beak. He couldn't help but smile at the mental image.

_So, guess you're going to be Gilbird from now on._

He nodded. "I'll take him."

…

Ludwig fidgeted with the informational brochure on pet budgerigars as he walked back towards campus with Angie. He'd arranged to pick up the bird—Gilbird, as he'd begun thinking of him already—after the holiday break, when Gilbert could be there, too. Just to make sure he wanted Gilbird.

Which he would, of course. How could he not? Gilbird was perfect for him. He'd love him.

This was a good idea. A thoughtful present. It wasn't a rash decision. Gilbert would appreciate it. Ludwig could spare the money for a cage, since adopting the bird itself from the shelter only cost a small fee. And Gilbert wanted a bird badly; he must have mentioned it at least three times in the past month alone. He would be grateful to his little brother for thinking of it.

Yes, it was a good idea.

Ludwig looked down and realized he'd been fiddling with the brochure so much it was starting to tear. He tucked it in his jacket pocket to keep it from further damage.

"Hellooo, Ludwig?"

"Hm?" He looked up at Angie with a start.

Angie laughed. "Where did you go? I asked if you want to come over? I told you all about my break but you still have to tell me about yours."

"Oh, yeah… I have a lot of work to get to…" At Angie's crestfallen face he amended, "but maybe tonight? If I make some progress on this Western Lit paper?"

Angie brightened. "Oh, I have to work on it too—are you going to the library? I'll come with!"

Ludwig had actually been hoping he could convince his brother to meet up at last—they still hadn't seen each other since they'd gotten back to school four days ago. Gilbert seemed to have an unlimited supply of excuses between mandatory boyfriend time and encroaching finals. Ludwig was beginning to wonder when exactly they would get around to 'starting over,' like Gilbert had promised him before the end of break.

Now that he thought of it, though, he really did need to work on that Lit paper. Gilbert would have to wait. Again.

He smiled weakly. "Sure, sounds good."

…

"So…" Angie tossed her bag down next to her bed and stretched her arms languorously over her head. "Made enough progress on your essay to relax a bit?"

Her hands came down on Ludwig's shoulders as he shrugged off his backpack. "Yeah, actually, got an outline done at least."

"Mm-hmm." Angie perched herself on the side of her bed and wrapped her hands behind Ludwig's neck, pulling him closer.

"And—you?" he questioned. His palms were starting to sweat.

"Oh, yeah, good," she answered distractedly, and planted a kiss on his lips.

His stomach clenched. He'd been wondering when Angie would try to start something, after her failed attempt just before break. Since they'd gotten back it had been limited to barely-more-than-chaste kisses.

The hickies peppering his neck and chest had faded to all but invisible, but the bite—that was still very much there, and tender to the touch. And he had no good story for why a large piece of gauze was taped to his torso.

More than that, though, the memory of what had happened last time kept popping unbidden back into his mind. What if he froze up like when Angie tried to touch him before? Or even worse, what if he threw up like on Thanksgiving, when he'd smelled Lovino's cologne? Both times, it was because he'd been reminded of—

_No. No, don't think about—that._

He swallowed heavily.

"C'mon, loosen up a bit," Angie murmured against his lips. She rubbed at his shoulders, which Ludwig realized were rigid.

He took a tiny step back. "Didn't you want to, um, talk some? You know, catch up?" he asked hopefully. Even if he couldn't really tell her everything about what had happened at home, spinning some stories to share seemed far less daunting a task than going along with her bedroom eyes at the moment.

Angie raised her eyebrows, half expectantly, half incredulously. When it became apparent Ludwig wasn't biting the bait, she sighed. "Ludwig," she started, in an 'I-can't-believe-I-have-to-spell-it-out-for-you' tone, "we haven't… you know. We haven't had sex since—well, that first time. And I don't really count drunken bathroom hook-ups. I mean, is something wrong? Am I doing something wrong?"

Ludwig cringed inwardly at the frustration and confusion on her face. "No, no, of course not! It's not you. Which—I know I'm not supposed to say that. I mean, it's just not… the right time. Like you said, I still haven't told you about my break, and…" A gear clicked into place in his mind. "Actually, to be honest, I wanted to talk to you about it. It's been sort of bothering me." It concerned him how easily he was able to lie. Or, not lie—but twist the truth to his advantage.

Angie's expression immediately morphed to one of sympathy and contrition, and Ludwig's stomach roiled with guilt. He tried to look anywhere but at her face.

"Oh, yeah, okay… You should have said if something was on your mind. I'm sorry." Her hands dropped to rub comfortingly up and down his biceps.

"No, it's okay, nothing too serious..." he tried to trivialize, but he knew it didn't absolve him of the manipulation. "Um, why don't we get some food before it gets too late?"

Angie gave him a small smile. "Okay. Burgers and beer?"

Ludwig attempted a smile in return. "Sounds great."

…

The concern in her eyes; the furrow in her brow; the way she worried her bottom lip with her teeth: they were all too genuine for him.

He looked away and downed the last mouthful of his beer.

"I think I'm gonna get another. You want anything?"

"Oh, sure, I'll have one if you are."

Ludwig rose and went to the bar to order two more beers. Luckily this was one of the few spots that didn't usually card on weeknights.

He'd told Angie an abridged version of the weekend's events: his father had told him more about his mother, shedding some light on his opposition to Gilbert's bisexuality; Gilbert had gone out with a new acquaintance and gotten high; Gilbert and their father had gotten into an argument; their father hit Gilbert; they had left early due to the tension with their dad.

Angie wanted emotional honesty from him, wanted to hear about his problems and to help him if she could, and she thought she was getting just that opportunity. Only, Ludwig knew that she wasn't, really. He was using her.

He didn't mean to, but it always seemed to end up that way.

Maybe sleeping with her would have been the easy way out.

He frowned at the bottles in his hand as he passed a ten over the counter. The first time they'd had sex, he hadn't frozen up. Probably because he'd been extremely drunk.

Well, if that was what it took…

He handed a bottle to Angie as he sat down. She fiddled with it; he took a long draught from his own.

"So, did you talk to Gilbert? After what your dad did?"

"Well, I told him what Dad told me about our mom—but he seemed to think I was taking Dad's side just because I was trying to explain what upset him." He didn't want to pour this on her, but it just came out when he opened his mouth. She was too easy to talk to. Or maybe it was only that he needed so badly to talk to someone, to anyone.

"Have you spoken with him since you got back?"

"No. I think he's avoiding me." _Because he hates me. Resents me. I've got the scars to prove it._

Another sullen gulp from the neck of his bottle.

Angie sighed. "Well, maybe he needs a bit of space right now. But, he will need you. He needs your support. Maybe you should just tell him, directly, you're on his side. Maybe that's what he needs to hear. That you're there for him. Give him some space, but be a brother to him."

 _Be a brother to him._ What did that even mean? Ludwig thought there had been a time he had known, but he couldn't remember anymore. Like he'd lost the key to his own home, and that place that had once been so familiar was no longer accessible to him. His memory of it was growing more unreliable by the day.

He grimaced. "Of course I'm on his side." Agitation gnawed at him. An itch he couldn't scratch. "Why do there have to be sides anyway?" he grumbled. "I mean, we're a family. We're supposed to be a family."

The hypocrisy of his words hit him like a punch.

He took another swig.

"Ludwig, you need to—"

"Never mind, forget it." It didn't feel good to talk about it anymore. He didn't want to think about a home he no longer knew like the palm of his hand. He didn't want to think about disappearing rooms and dead-end hallways in a disintegrating, Inception-esque dreamscape.

Angie looked unconvinced.

"Really, let's just talk about something else," he muttered. "I've bored you long enough with my stupid family drama."

"Ludwig, it's not stupid or boring to me. And it clearly matters to you. I thought you wanted to talk about this."

"Just—not right now." He downed the rest of his beer in two gulps and set the bottle firmly on the table, reaching a decision. "I don't want to spoil tonight. Let's just focus on having a good time. Won't have many free evenings with finals coming up."

Angie sighed, fighting down the concern in her eyes and attempting a small smile. "Alright…"

Ludwig brought two more beer bottles back to the table, ostensibly one each, but as Angie was still nursing her last one Ludwig ended up drinking both. The more he drank, the easier it became to talk about things that weren't his brother. He laughed and commiserated as Angie complained about her humorless biology TA and they ended up swapping stories about the most unreasonable and incompetent teachers they had ever had. By the time he got around to describing his tenth grade trig teacher—who regularly had to look up answers in the back of the textbook and who had previously worked as a professional ice cream taster—he hardly had a thought to spare for Gilbert. The serious buzz he was getting off his fourth beer didn't hurt.

He didn't want to lose that buzz.

"Do a shot with me," he blurted out. He felt warm, confident.

"What?" Angie laughed. "Haven't you had enough? It's a Wednesday night!"

"So? You don't have class tomorrow morning, do you?" The grin plastered to his face probably looked stupid, but for the life of him he couldn't wipe it off.

"Well, no…"

"Then why not?"

She laughed again. "It's getting late… You know, what I need is a smoke. You do—" she waved her arm towards the bar as she rose from the table, "whatever you want to do and I'll be back in a minute. Don't know what good you think it's going to do you though. Have to head home soon."

"Don't know what good you think smoking's gonna do you. Better to do a shot with me," Ludwig retorted. Playful affection bubbled in his stomach. It was nice: a nearly forgotten feeling.

"Touché." Angie grinned wryly. "But, I'll pass, thanks." She headed for the door, pulling her jacket on.

Ludwig sighed and headed to the bar on his own. After several unsuccessful attempts he finally caught the bartender's attention.

"One shot of Jameson."

"Just one?"

"Yup."

"Can I see some ID please?"

Ludwig blinked dumbly. "What?"

"ID please."

"Uh, I ordered like, six beers from you already…" he tried hopefully.

"No ID, no hard liquor."

"Um, I think I left it at the table," he mumbled, tucking his wallet back into his pocket and turning away in disappointment.

He hadn't gone two steps when a hand settled heavy and familiar on his shoulder.

"My underage brother isn't trying to order an alcoholic beverage, is he?"

Ludwig looked around, slightly disoriented, and came face to face with Gilbert's lopsided grin.

"Gilbert!" He was too caught off guard to even register his brother's words.

Gilbert slapped him on the shoulder. "I got your back." He went up to the bar and immediately flagged down the barkeep.

"Two shots of Jameson." He handed over his driver's license. "Oh, and uh, two Yuenglings."

The bartender raised an eyebrow as he examined the ID, but handed it back without comment and poured the drinks. Gilbert paid up and turned back to his brother with the shot glasses, pressing one into his hand.

"What shall we drink to?"

"Uh…"

"How about to us?"

"What?"

"To brothers, who always got each other's backs."

Gilbert downed his shot. Ludwig frowned a moment, then followed suit.

Once the burn cleared from his throat, he asked what he'd been wondering from the start. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you I suspect. Mid-week pick-me-up with the significant other." He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. Ludwig followed the gesture and sure enough, there at a booth on the other side of the room was the back of his RA's blond head.

A confusing synthesis of disappointment and anger rose in Ludwig's chest, even though he knew it was a ridiculous reaction. What did he expect? That Gilbert had followed him here? That he wanted to talk to him, instead of his boyfriend?

His fingers subconsciously rubbed at the bandage under his shirt. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he saw Gilbert's eye twitch.

Ludwig let his fingers drop. Gilbert grabbed the two beers still sitting on the bar. "And said significant other is expecting me back with these, so. Enjoy your night, bro."

Ludwig held out an arm to block his brother's path. He felt as though he'd been forgetting something, distracted by Gilbert's unexpected appearance, but now he was beginning to recall. Something that crept under his skin and lodged there, prickly and intractable.

"Wait—why have you been avoiding me?"

Gilbert's eyes narrowed as he cast a peeved side-glance at his brother. "I haven't been avoiding you. Been busy."

He attempted to circumvent Ludwig's arm, but Ludwig stepped in his way.

"Ludwig—"

"Don't lie to me. I can tell. We need to talk—"

"If I were avoiding you, would I have come over to say hi and buy you a shot? C'mon."

"Oh yeah, a shot and a pat on the back—good talk. And that toast? 'To brothers and having each other's backs'? What the fuck was that about?"

"What do you mean 'what was it about'—"

"I mean it's complete bullshit!" Ludwig didn't care that people were beginning to turn their heads. The alcohol that had given him such a pleasant glow before was pounding in his head and veins now. All his focus was on Gilbert. "You clearly don't have my back if you've been finding every excuse possible not to see me for the past four days—"

"Lud, the world's not gonna end if we don't see each other every day—"

"You could at least have the balls to admit it! You don't even wanna talk to me! What happened to starting over, huh?"

Gilbert grit his teeth and set one of his beers down on the ledge of the wainscoting behind him. He brought his free hand to the back of Ludwig's neck, cold and damp from the condensation on the glass, and pulled him close.

"Now is not the time or place." His voice was low, his eyes dead serious. "Don't make a scene, okay? We'll hang out soon. Go enjoy your night with Angie." With that, he grabbed his beer and pushed past his brother.

Ludwig watched as Gilbert went back to his table set a glass in front of his boyfriend, then leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek. He felt sick.

"What was that about?" Angie's voice at his side startled him from his brooding. He hadn't even noticed her come up.

"Nothing," mumbled Ludwig. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom."

He left Angie glancing skeptically between his retreating back and the table where Gilbert and Matthew sat talking.

Ludwig had meant to use his minute in the restroom to collect himself, but it didn't really work. He couldn't stop worrying at the huge, Gilbert-shaped sore on his brain.

When he reemerged, he promptly gathered his jacket from his chair and pulled it on. "Let's go."

Angie shrugged. Ludwig was grateful that she didn't question him further about the exchange with his brother.

They walked back towards campus side-by-side, shoulders hunched against the cold. Ludwig was quiet, his mind still back at the bar. He couldn't believe he'd spent so much time choosing the perfect pet for that jerk. Gilbert didn't deserve a Gilbird.

_No, no, Gilbird will be perfect. Gilbert will love him, and he'll remember how well I know him, how much I care._

He breathed deeply through his nostrils.

"So…" started Angie tentatively. "I get the feeling you're not going to tell me what just happened with Gilbert back there."

Ludwig just grunted in agreement.

"Okay…" Angie was silent a few moments before she spoke up again. "Well, if you're not going to talk about your brother, can you at least try harder to pretend that you're not still thinking about him?"

Ludwig grimaced. "Sorry." He didn't have anything more to offer than that.

Angie nodded. "Right. Geez, what is it with you two? Always such a drama bomb," she teased gently. Ludwig didn't respond, so she followed suit with the tacit 'no talking' rule.

Ludwig wished he were drunker, so he couldn't still feel so much, wouldn't have to think. At least the world seemed a bit muffled, distant. Maybe it was enough.

"Hey, can I… come up?" he asked when they reached Angie's building.

Angie raised her eyebrows, but shrugged. "Sure, of course."

Ludwig trailed after her. He watched her, the way her ass moved as she mounted the stairs ahead of him, the way her hair bounced slightly with every step; trying to psych himself up. His mouth felt dry.

As soon as they were inside her room, Ludwig pulled her close for a kiss. Angie hummed in surprise. Before he could get cold feet, he reached for her buttocks, making his intentions clear. He felt the vibration of Angie's laugh against his lips.

She pulled her mouth off his long enough to breathe, "Steady there, lover boy."

Ludwig backed her up against the bed clumsily. It was now or never. He began hiking her shirt up over her belly. The alcohol burned warm in his stomach, and if he focused on that, he could ignore the anxious voice whispering in the back of his mind.

"Woah, slow down." Angie's voice, not the one in his head.

"Isn't this how you want me to touch you?" he murmured into her neck. His hands skimmed over her bra.

"Ludwig—"

"You like it?" He reached around her, fumbling with the clasps.

With an exasperated sigh, Angie pushed him away. "Ludwig. Not now."

Ludwig stumbled back. "But I thought you…" His mind was fuzzy. Fuzzier than maybe he'd realized. "You said, you wanted to—"

"Not like this! You're drunk. Again."

"What d'you mean, 'again'—"

"Like the first time!"

"I'm not—I promise, I'm not nearly as drunk—I'm really not drunk!"

"Well, you're not sober, are you?"

"What—" He laughed in disbelief. "I'm not allowed to have a couple drinks before sex? C'mon—"

"No, _you_ 'c'mon'—I mean, I've been waiting, and now—are you even capable of having sex sober?"

"I, I am—"

"Ludwig, you have no idea what a big deal it's been for me to—" She cut herself off abruptly, rubbing a hand down her face.

Ludwig frowned. "To what?"

"Nothing. Never mind. We shouldn't have this discussion now, with you in this state," she muttered.

"I'm honestly not that drunk," he complained, reaching towards her.

She batted his hands away. "Just go home, Ludwig! I'm not in the mood."

She seemed pissed, upset. He'd never seen her this angry with him before, and he wasn't even sure what he'd done wrong.

He ran a hand through his hair and glanced around, lost. "Okay…" He waited another moment, hoping for some clue, a word, anything, that would help him understand how he'd managed to fuck up this time. Angie didn't so much as look at him. She was apparently waiting for him to leave, so without another word he headed for the door.

Ludwig mulled it over as made his way on auto-pilot back across campus. It wasn't as though he was so drunk he didn't know what he was doing. Why did it make such a big difference to her if he'd had a few beers? She had been waiting for him, and just when he'd finally worked up the courage to give her what she wanted, she lashed out.

Ludwig was frustrated. Not with Angie: with himself. Why couldn't he seem to do a damn thing right these days?

He had wanted to satisfy her, he realized. He wanted Angie to be happy with him. But she wasn't, and it didn't feel good. The more he thought about it, the less he was sure he would ever be able to give her what she wanted, what she needed.

Even if they managed to have sex at last, one time wouldn't be enough. It would have to become a regular thing. That was what couples did.

The thought made him shudder. He felt vaguely ill. Wasn't he supposed to want this too? Didn't he find Angie attractive? She was an attractive girl, and he liked her. So what was wrong with him?

Completely unbidden, an image of Gilbert popped into his head. Reclining on his bed, a smug smile on his face, entirely too pleased with himself, too inviting, too provocative. His shirt riding up his stomach just slightly—no, now the shirt was gone. Nothing but boxer shorts. Legs splayed and careless.

Ludwig groaned and ran a hand down his face.

_What is wrong with me?_

He didn't even realize he'd stopped walking. He'd been too preoccupied to notice the cold before, but now the icy fingers of the night breeze found their way through the crevices of his layers and raised the hairs on his skin. He stood, tense, not bothering to move the few steps to the sheltered alcove of the library side entrance on his right, or keep going to his dorm just down the walkway.

He wished Gilbert were there to keep him warm. He could almost feel his arms around him; if he imagined away their clothes, he could feel the heat of his skin radiating into his bones…

The wind blew harder and the illusion disappeared. He shivered and resumed his course for home.

He couldn't even kid himself. He could never satisfy Angie, never make her truly happy, even if he wanted to. He wasn't capable of it. Not when it was his brother's embrace he ached for.

…

Ludwig had no intention of answering the knocking at the suite door. None of his suitemates were in, and as he didn't have a morning class, he was intent on staying in bed until at least eleven. Not that he was capable of sleeping in that late—it was practically unheard of for him—but he felt an extreme lethargy that had nothing to do with the alcohol he'd consumed the night before. He simply lay there staring at the ceiling. Nothing seemed worth getting out of bed for, especially not the asshole pounding on his door.

Until he heard the voice of said asshole.

"Ludwig, I know you're in there! Get your lazy ass over here and open this door!"

Ludwig sat straight up. What the hell was Gilbert doing there at ten in the morning?

Begrudgingly, he pulled himself out of bed and plodded out to the entryway. He wished he'd at least had time to comb his hair. He probably looked terrible.

As soon as he'd cracked the hall door, his brother pushed it open and barreled past into Ludwig's room.

"Get dressed! Grab a coat! Have you seen the snow?"

Ludwig blinked bemusedly at Gilbert, who was busy rustling through drawers and throwing clothes onto his bed.

"What are you doing…?" he asked slowly.

Gilbert turned to him, looking almost manic with a wide grin on his face and a thick pair of socks clutched in one hand. "Sledding, little bro. The arboretum hill is a veritable rite of passage for all new students. But—the key is to get there early, go on a weekday. We'll practically have the place to ourselves at this time."

Ludwig hesitated. Gilbert was offering to spend time with him; that was good, right? But he could read his brother. What he was seeing now was Gilbert the steamroller, one-tracked-mind and blinkers screwed on tight. Like last night, when he'd bought him a shot and toasted to brothers, no room for a word in edgewise. Ludwig couldn't expect to get any meaningful conversation out of him when he was like this, but he also knew Gilbert wouldn't take no for an answer.

_Give him some space, but be a brother to him._

He sighed. "Alright." Maybe, after Gilbert was a bit loosened up and had expended some of that energy, he could work him around to what they needed to discuss. Although, if he were being honest with himself, his own gut lurched unpleasantly at the thought of that confrontation.

"Good man!" cheered Gilbert as Ludwig turned to his clothes.

"Don't you have class this morning?" he asked as he pulled on a pair of jeans, just to make conversation.

"Only a lecture."

Gilbert held up his hands defensively at Ludwig's disapproving glare. "C'mon, you don't expect me to show up to every lecture in a hall that seats four hundred, do you? And I'll read the textbook," he added in a mutter. "Anyway, snow waits not for lecture or seminar! For all we know it could be melted by the weekend."

He strode to the window and pulled up the blinds, flooding the room with the cold light of a clear winter day. Sure enough, the lawns and roofs of adjacent buildings were blanketed in heavy white.

"This," stated Gilbert, "could quite possibly be the best snowfall we get all winter. We've gotta take advantage." He spun back around. "Anywho, Mattie's waiting for us. I'ma go keep him company. Meet ya in the hall!" He rushed back out of the room.

Ludwig's stomach sank. He hadn't really expected Gilbert to invite him alone, but Matthew, of all people? What was his brother thinking? The bowling alley had been bad enough, and then at least there'd been Alfred as well. This would only make it harder to find the chance to talk. That was probably Gilbert's plan.

Ludwig sighed. Leave it to Gilbert to find a way to avoid him even while spending time with him. Gilbert had a whole lifetime's worth of experience blocking his little brother out emotionally—but Ludwig had the same experience in breaking those barriers down.

…

The hill dropped off steeply from the arboretum grounds on the edge of campus and sloped down towards fields of dead, snow-capped cornstalks. From the top, they could survey the terrain they would be navigating; the slight curve in the treeless swath of snow before them, the shallow ditch running alongside it in places.

Gilbert had been right; there weren't many people around at this time. Just two other students sharing a single toboggan.

"Alright, who first?" said Gilbert with relish. He grinned behind his sunglasses and rubbed his mittened hands together. They only had two sleds between them and would have to take turns.

"Not me," said Matthew immediately, casting a nervous glance at the steep descent and the breakneck speed of the tobogganers as they reached the bottom.

Truthfully, Ludwig understood his hesitation. "Are you sure this is safe?" he questioned skeptically.

He felt rather than saw his brother's eye-roll.

"Oh my God, yes. Wusses. Fine, let the vision-impaired boy go first. Real gallant of ya."

"Oh, I'll go with—" Ludwig immediately offered, but Gilbert cut him off.

"Relax, only messing. I've done this like, a thousand and one times before."

Without further hesitation, he grabbed one of the plastic sleds and practically belly-flopped onto it. "GERONIMOOO!" he yelled as he sped off head-first down the hill.

Ludwig watched in slight trepidation as Gilbert rounded the curve and hurtled to the foot of the hill. He slid thirty or so yards on flat ground before coming to a halt, then jumped up with two triumphant fists raised high. His whooping and hollering floated up to them through the crisp air.

Ludwig glanced at Matthew. He looked pale from more than the cold.

"I'll go," Ludwig offered, partially out of consideration and partially because he wanted to catch his brother at the bottom.

He sat down on his sled—feet-first, like one was supposed to—and pushed off. He picked up speed quickly and gripped the handles tight in anticipation as he approached the turn. He was swinging wide towards the trees—lean to the left—a bit more, a bit _more_ —and then he was in the clear. His stomach swooped as he sped down the rest of the path and out past Gilbert, who was dragging his sled back towards the hill.

Ludwig stopped short of the cornstalks and hauled himself up to follow his brother, but it was difficult to move quickly through nearly a foot of snow while carrying a sled.

"So? How was it?" called Gilbert over his shoulder.

"Good," Ludwig called back.

"Good? That's all you got? I think you mean freakin' awesome!"

"Yeah, sure. Hey, wait up a second," he yelled as his brother began the trek up the slope.

"Don't wanna keep Mattie waiting. You can move faster than that," Gilbert shot back.

Ludwig sighed and tried to move his legs more quickly. He should have known Gilbert wouldn't make this easy for him.

It wasn't until nearly halfway up that Ludwig pulled even with his brother. He had always thought it unfair that even though he exercised much more than Gilbert, his brother still seemed able to outdo him in terms of stamina. He made it look easy, the way he strode uphill without pausing or even slowing.

"Hey," Ludwig panted.

"Yo, took ya long enough."

"Shut up, you had a head-start."

Gilbert chuckled. "Excuses, excuses. Shouldn't be a problem for a beefcake like you."

Ludwig shot him a bizarre look but didn't respond to the tease. He had more important things on his mind, and a limited amount of time before they got back to Matthew. He hesitated a moment, then dove in.

"Gilbert, why did you invite me here?"

"Like I said, rite of passage. Had to pop your proverbial arboretum-sledding-cherry."

Ludwig pursed his lips. "I meant, why did you invite me along with Matt? Aren't we a bit of a… awkward trio?"

It was hard to tell with the sunglasses, but he thought Gilbert looked a bit ticked off. "Oh come on, can't I enjoy a fun seasonal activity with the two most special guys in my life?"

Ludwig didn't want to admit it, but it stung that Gilbert lumped him and Matthew together like that. Even if their sibling relationship had been completely normal, he thought he deserved the unqualified title of "most special guy in Gilbert's life" by virtue of being his brother, rather than sharing it with the boy his brother had been dating for only a couple months.

"And besides," continued Gilbert. "You seemed to have this crazy idea that I've been avoiding you or something. As you can see, clearly not the case."

Ludwig sighed. "Gilbert, I didn't—I meant that we have to talk one-on-one."

"What do you think we're doing right now?"

"You know what I mean—"

"No, I don't really, enlighten me—"

"You haven't been yourself since we got back!" There was no use beating around the bush when Gilbert was acting this obtuse.

Gilbert stopped in his tracks and turned to him, leaning in close. "I have been totally myself. Absolutely, one hundred percent certified authentic Gilbert Beilschmidt. What, you think just because I haven't been hanging out with my little brother every day that I'm somehow not acting normal? 'Cause I think you've got it a bit mixed up: what wouldn't be normal is if we were glued at the hip, if I saw you more often than my own boyfriend, you know what I'm saying?" He began walking again, pulling his sled along with a sharp tug on the strap. "I am acting _completely_ normal."

Ludwig tried not to roll his eyes. He kept pace with his brother. "I didn't say 'not normal,' I said 'not yourself.' There's a difference—"

"You saying I'm not normally normal? Gee, thanks—"

"I can tell, Gilbert, okay? I can tell things are bothering you, and I think we should talk about it—"

Gilbert spun around again, more agitated than before. "What's bothering me, exactly? What can you tell? You've said yourself, you've hardly seen me since we got back, so how can you judge how I'm feeling? You're making assumptions, that's what you're doing. There's nothing to talk about, okay?"

"Gilbert—"

"I'm serious. Drop it. And if you don't—look, I said we were gonna start over, we were gonna forget about—last weekend's shit-show. And I meant it. I'm just here to have a good time with my little brother and my boyfriend. Let's start things off right. Is that too much to ask? If you're planning on ruining it I'll leave."

Ludwig grit his teeth, trying to quell his frustration. It was absurd and unfair, but there was no use pushing Gilbert when he was being this obstinate. It would only push him away.

He took a deep breath through his nostrils. "I'm not planning on ruining anything."

"Good. Great!" Gilbert clapped him on the arm with false cheer and continued his uphill march.

He'd barely taken two steps when a new voice yelled down to them, "Hurry up, slow-asses. It's our turn!"

Ludwig froze. He glanced first up to the source of the voice to confirm his suspicion and then at his brother. "You invited _Liz_?" he asked incredulously.

Gilbert was likewise stock-still as he gazed open-mouthed up at the crest of the hill, where not one, but two figures stood in wait. "No, I swear, I didn't. I'm not suicidal, c'mon," he muttered. "Shit," he added under his breath. He lowered his head and continued up with grim determination, Ludwig following after reluctantly.

"Liz. Wasn't expecting you," quipped Gilbert when he reached the top at last.

"Well, when I heard from Mattie that you were at the arboretum without me, I knew that just wouldn't stand. We have sledded together for the first snow of winter since freshman year, Gilbert Beilschmidt. Does tradition mean nothing to you, man?"

Gilbert held up his hands. "My bad. Thought you had lab this morning. So, where's Prince Prissy Pants?"

"If you mean my boyfriend, he has a piano lesson. And don't lie to me, mister. I know you just didn't want to lose every sledding race to me in front of your boyfriend." She hesitated just a moment too long before adding, "and your little brother." Elizaveta glanced at Ludwig, hanging back behind Gilbert, and gave him a smile anyone else would have taken for cheerful. "Hey, Ludwig."

Ludwig nodded back with a quiet "hey," trying to look anywhere but at her.

Gilbert laughed. "Oh yeah? Bring it," he challenged, apparently oblivious to—or simply refusing to acknowledge—the awkward exchange.

"Oh, I will," assured Elizaveta.

"Alright then, let's go, you an' me, right now."

"Hang on, Matt's been waiting all this time for his turn. Chivalry may be dead to you, but not to me. I'll cede my sled in this race to Matthew. Let's have the boyfriends duel it out."

A bolt of panic shot through Ludwig's body. "Wait, you've been waiting too. Gilbert, you should give Liz a turn." He didn't want to be stuck waiting at the top with Elizaveta.

"No, it's fine, I just got here," Elizaveta dismissed him.

"Yeah, you heard her, Lud. She's fine waiting." Apparently, Gilbert didn't want to be stuck with him either.

Ludwig's stomach clenched as he resigned himself to his fate.

Gilbert and Matthew took their positions on their sleds. "On your marks," called Elizaveta. "Get set, go!"

With a push, the pair was off down the hill. Ludwig stood watching them, his whole body tense as a bowstring. He could feel Elizaveta's eyes on him.

After what felt like a very long silence—but really only could have been moments, as Gilbert and Matthew had just come to a stop out in the field—Elizaveta spoke up.

"I didn't know you'd be here." She paused. When Ludwig didn't answer, she went on. "You don't have to be scared of me, you know."

Ludwig's eye twitched. "I don't know what you're talking about." He wished he could think of an excuse to leave. Or a way to disappear into thin air.

He heard Elizaveta sigh. "Look, I know you're freaked out that I know."

Something inside Ludwig snapped, somewhere behind his sternum. "Yeah, I am," he burst out, voice much too high. He couldn't take this, he couldn't be asked to talk about this out loud, in the open, with someone else. Someone who wasn't Gilbert. Someone who _knew_. It didn't make any sense to him; how could she stand there and talk about it so casually? This ugly, dark thing that was his constant companion, that no one else was supposed to see?

He ran one shaking gloved hand compulsively through his hair. "How are you not?" His voice trembled.

Elizaveta sighed again. She was quiet a moment before answering. "I'm not freaked out. But I am worried. Gilbert's my friend."

Ludwig kept his mouth clamped firmly shut. He didn't trust himself to speak at the moment. He watched the miniature figures of Gilbert and Matthew start up the path and waited for a better explanation.

When Elizaveta realized no response was forthcoming, she tried again. "Okay, so I was pretty freaked out at first. But freaking out doesn't really help anyone, does it? I just want Gilbert to be okay. And you, because I know he cares about you more than anyone—"

Ludwig let out an involuntary bark of laughter. "Does he?" He hadn't really meant to say it. He hadn't even realized he was thinking it. The words left a bitter aftertaste.

Elizaveta peered at him. "So… I take it things aren't going too well?" she asked softly.

Finally, Ludwig looked at her. He was surprised to find concern in her face. "I thought you'd be pleased," he said sullenly.

Elizaveta pursed her lips and gazed down the hill at the subject of their conversation. "Look…" she started slowly. "Gilbert and I have a complicated history. We became best friends during orientation. We were inseparable all of freshman year. And, because we made such a great team as friends, we decided to give dating a try. But, that was a mistake. We weren't cut out to be a couple, and it nearly destroyed our friendship. Ever since we broke up, it's like we're play-acting at being best friends. Trying to remember how it works, going through the motions. It's not that we don't care about each other anymore—we do care—but, sometimes caring isn't enough. There have only been a couple times, really, since the break-up, that we've been really open with each other, gotten close at all. It isn't easy to get that back after… I mean, after you cross a certain line—"

"Okay, I get the point!"

"Well, I hope you do! I mean it, Ludwig—"

"Your relationship with my brother is nothing like my relationship with him, okay? You can't compare them. You know nothing about our relationship. You don't know me, and you may know _about_ us, but you don't really _know_ us, together, and you can't, because you could never understand." Ludwig was breathing heavily when he finished. He glared directly at her.

Elizaveta considered him a moment, then shook her head, the faintest shadow of a smile on her lips. "You are so much like him," she said wryly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ludwig frowned, annoyed she was deflecting.

Elizaveta raised her eyebrows. "Stubborn. You are both way too stubborn for your own good."

Ludwig snorted and returned his attention to Gilbert and Matthew as they came around the bend. They were pushing each other playfully. Gilbert stuffed a handful of snow down Matthew's shirt, laughing raucously. A horrible pang stabbed through Ludwig's gut.

"You know," Elizaveta spoke up again, "I may be the last person you want to talk to, but I will listen. Just, if you ever need."

Ludwig didn't answer for a moment. He watched his brother brush snow out of his boyfriend's hair.

"Why do you care?" he asked softly.

Elizaveta turned her arms out in a vague gesture. "I just do. I care about Gilbert, and the people he cares about."

Ludwig was finding it difficult to speak around the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. "Aren't you… disgusted? By me? By us?" He kept his eyes resolutely forward, forced his lip not to tremble.

Elizaveta paused before giving her answer. "Not by you personally. Or by Gilbert. It's no secret I disagree with what you're doing, but it's not because of disgust. And I don't turn my back on my friends just because I think they've made a mistake."

Ludwig was silent for a long moment, watching his brother, listening to his laughter draw nearer.

"He thinks he's hurting me," he said at last, so quietly he wasn't sure if Elizaveta had heard.

She had. She looked at him expectantly.

Ludwig didn't know what had made him say it, why he felt the need to explain to her, but now that he'd begun he couldn't stop.

"He's _not_ , though. Except when he won't—talk to me. He's just scared, he just—"

_He just never wanted any of this. He just hates me now. Everything you said was right._

Ludwig's lungs weren't working properly. He hugged himself. He felt the pressure of his arm over where the bandage was still taped to his chest. "He's never done anything to me I didn't want him to."

"Done anything _to_ you? What do you mean?"

"…Nothing."

Elizaveta paused. "I probably wouldn't want to know, would I?"

"Probably not." Ludwig glanced at her sideways. He could see the distaste and discomfort in the twist of her mouth. The disgust.

"My point is," he started again, holding himself tighter, "the problem isn't—it's just in his head, see? So, yeah, we are having problems, but it doesn't have to be that way, you understand? He's just scared."

He looked at her, his eyes hard, defiant, desperate. Elizaveta held his gaze for a long moment before settling it back on Gilbert. He and Matt were almost to the top of the hill.

"If you say so," she said, softly enough that only Ludwig could hear. Then a sudden smile broke over her face and she called out, "Alright, who's the winner?"

"Oh c'mon, you missed it?" Gilbert shouted back. "Me, obviously! By a mile!"

Matthew grumbled something behind him and Gilbert laughed. "Mattie did good though," he added generously.

Without missing a beat, he bounded up to Elizaveta. "Alright, what about we settle that score now?"

"You're on."

They chose their sleds and positioned themselves side by side. Matthew called 'go' and sent them off and away down the path. Elizaveta hugged the curve and shot ahead of Gilbert. She reached the bottom first and slid far into the field, her cries of victory ringing out loud and clear. Gilbert came to a stop well behind her and tumbled from his sled with a single audible curse.

The race over, Matthew turned his attention to Ludwig, trying to engage in small talk. Ludwig shot him down with brief, uninformative answers, and soon Matt gave up. Ludwig felt bad, truthfully, but he knew he would feel worse if he actually engaged in friendly conversation as if everything were normal. Another manipulation, another lie. It was bad enough to do it to his own girlfriend, who was already upset with him for reasons unrelated to his brother—at least not directly. Ludwig didn't need to add to his guilt over Matthew.

They stood in silence waiting for the others. Ludwig passed the time trying to think of what he would say to Angie next time he saw her. Should he bring a gift? Were flowers too maudlin?

He was saved from mulling over this dilemma when Gilbert reached the top, well ahead of Elizaveta.

"Okay, got time for one more run, I think. We can go twosies on these things." He brandished the sled. "Mattie?"

Matthew eyed the flimsy plastic skeptically. "Uh, I think I'll watch first, thanks. Besides, I just went. You can go with Ludwig."

Before Gilbert could think up some excuse to get out of it, Ludwig butted in. "Great idea." He put a hand on his brother's shoulder and guided him to their starting spot. "Alright, I'm heavier, I'll go in back."

"That means you're steering," grumbled Gilbert.

"I can steer," retorted Ludwig, though he wasn't entirely sure that was the truth. These sleds weren't made for two full-grown men, and under different circumstances he would have protested at the foolhardiness of Gilbert's plan. Maybe they could fit two to a sled when they were little, but now their knees were nearly at their chests as they crammed together, Gilbert settled snuggly between Ludwig's legs.

Ludwig gripped the edges of the sled, afraid the two of them would come unfolded and topple out if he let go.

"Don't die," called Elizaveta as she approached.

"Yeah, yeah. Mattie, give us a push?" called Gilbert.

Matthew obliged, and before Ludwig had really had the chance to mentally prepare himself they had tipped over the brink and began accelerating.

They flew past Elizaveta and towards the curve. Gilbert tightened his grip on Ludwig's knees.

"Turn! Turn!" he yelled.

Ludwig tried to lean, but he hardly had any leverage with so little room for movement. They had too much momentum.

Gilbert jerked to the left, knocking Ludwig's leg from the sled. His boot skidded along the snow, kicking it up into their faces. They swerved sideways just before the trees and toppled over into the ditch in a tangle of limbs.

Ludwig groaned and brushed snow from his jacket. Some had found its way down his collar and he shivered.

Gilbert propped himself on one elbow and lifted his other arm with a thumbs up. "We're fine!" he called. "In case you care!"

A high-pitched laugh echoed down to them. A few seconds later Elizaveta and Matthew sped past on the other sled. Elizaveta was still cackling.

"Show-offs!" yelled Gilbert after them. He raised an eyebrow at Ludwig. "You can steer, my ass."

Ludwig huffed and sat up, looking away from his brother.

"Oh, geez, I'm only teasing." Gilbert punched his arm lightly.

"It's not that," muttered Ludwig, staring at his snow-caked boot.

Gilbert was silent a second, looking for an out, before he sighed in resignation. "Let me guess. You're still annoyed with me?"

Ludwig looked at him, his brow furrowed. His face left no room for doubt of his seriousness.

Gilbert sighed again. It was his turn to look away.

For a long moment, Ludwig could sense the emotion simmering just beneath the surface—until finally Gilbert couldn't hold it back.

"Okay, fine. I haven't been exactly awesome the past few days. Happy? Y'know, maybe it has something to do with being threatened with disownment," he spat bitterly.

"Gilbert," Ludwig said softly. "Of course I'm not happy, because I can tell you're not. But you can talk to me about it, you know? You don't have to carry that alone."

"Of course I have t—" Gilbert started, but broke off with a growl of frustration, clenching a hand in his hair. "You wouldn't understand."

Ludwig gripped his brother's shoulder and turned him to face him. "Well try me! At least give me a chance! I'm your brother. If you can talk to anyone, it should be me. If you're serious about starting over, making things right between us—then you have to make the effort."

It bothered Ludwig that he couldn't see Gilbert's eyes behind the sunglasses. He reached up and gingerly removed them, folding them in his gloved palm.

Gilbert squinted away. "What are you trying to do, blind me?"

"Gilbert."

Gilbert pursed his lips, still squinting off to the side.

"I know that's not the only thing bothering you." Almost subconsciously, Ludwig's fingers brushed over the location of the mark Gilbert had left with his teeth.

Gilbert's hand shot out to catch Ludwig's. "Don't." It was urgent, instinctive. He pulled Ludwig's hand away from the wound, and finally met his eyes.

After a split-second deliberation, Gilbert leaned in so their foreheads were nearly touching. "Don't," he said again, barely more than a whisper.

Ludwig could feel his brother's breath puff against his skin, almost surprising in its warm contrast to the chilly air. Then his lips were against his, and they were even warmer.

All thoughts stopped. Ludwig pressed a hand to the back of Gilbert's head and pulled him closer. He needed more. It had been too long since they'd kissed.

Their mouths slipped open against each other, and Ludwig could feel the full, scorching heat radiating from within. He licked inside, just wanting to feel, taste, savor. He sucked gently on his tongue.

A guttural sound escaped one of their throats; he wasn't sure whose.

A little voice in the back of Ludwig's mind was nagging at him. A voice reminding him that the conversation wasn't finished; it wasn't even begun. Gilbert was avoiding it, distracting him.

He just couldn't quite bring himself to care, at the moment.

Finally, they parted, a thin string of saliva snapping between their lips and clinging to Ludwig's chin. Somehow he'd ended up lying back in the snow again, his brother leaning over him.

"Gilbert," he breathed.

Gilbert pressed his mittened fingers against his mouth, then replaced them with his lips once more.

It was soft and sweet, but all-consuming. Gilbert was insistent, methodical as he explored every corner of Ludwig's mouth with his tongue, yet he did not demand, did not attack as he had the night he'd left the bruises and bites. Ludwig was pliable, willingly making way for Gilbert's tongue, eagerly tracing it with his own. He'd almost forgotten how good this felt, how good to be so close, so nearly melded into one—

With a sharp gasp, Ludwig broke away. A new, intentional pressure was settled over his crotch; Gilbert's hand had snaked its way between his legs. Ludwig would be lying if he said he wasn't interested, if he denied wanting to lean up into that hand, feel his fingers wrap around him—

He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed Gilbert's arm away. "Not here," he muttered. He lifted himself up enough to glance over the low snow bank sheltering them from view of the sledding course. The tobogganers had disappeared, but he spotted Elizaveta and Matthew trudging uphill only several yards away.

Gilbert pulled his sunglasses from Ludwig's grasp and replaced them on his face before grinning down at his little brother. "Maybe later," he murmured.

Ludwig was so distracted by that smirk—those perfect, arrogant lips that had just been crushed against his own—that he didn't see the handful of snow coming. Before he knew it, it was stuffed down the front of his jacket and Gilbert was laughing like a maniac.

Ludwig yelped—he would never admit it, but it was a yelp, high-pitched as a yippy little poodle—and clutched at his clothing, trying to get the icy cold away from his skin. Before Gilbert could twist out of reach, he lunged at him and tackled him to the ground. Ludwig kept him pinned as took his own scoop of snow and stuffed it right in his brother's panicked face. It was his turn to laugh at Gilbert's indignant squawk.

"Yo, you two!" Elizaveta's voice cut in. "Quit messing around. Don't you have to get to class?"

Ludwig let Gilbert brush himself off and get to his feet.

"C'mon, Liz, since when do you pass up a good snow fight?" complained Gilbert.

She glanced suspiciously between the two. Despite all she'd said before, Ludwig still didn't want to look at her, and didn't much like her looking at him.

Gilbert didn't wait for an answer, though. He brushed past her to join his boyfriend. "Whatever, I was about to leave anyway. Come on, Mattie."

They started to move away. As if on afterthought, Gilbert added, "See ya Liz. Lud."

Ludwig scrambled to retrieve the sled from where it lay overturned a few feet off. He didn't want Elizaveta to see or guess what he was feeling—how much it stung when Gilbert tossed him aside so easily in exchange for Matthew. For a few moments, he had been so happy, he had almost forgotten all about his brother's boyfriend. When they were kissing, when they were roughhousing in the snow like in the old days—it felt like they were the only ones in the world. The only ones who mattered. Then reality had to show up and shatter the illusion.

 _Maybe later_ , he had said. He had kissed him. That had to mean something. Maybe Gilbert really did want to fix things—start over, start right, as he'd said. Even if Ludwig wasn't sure how exactly it was going to happen, that was something to hold on to. _Maybe later_.

But the promise of 'later' was starting to wear thin.

"Bye, Liz," he muttered hastily as he practically ran past her, back towards the top of the hill and towards campus.

He watched Gilbert and Matthew walking ahead of him, hand in hand. He knew that behind him, Elizaveta was bringing up the rear, watching them all. He didn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm still alive, and I'm still writing this story. Thank you all for your saintly patience in waiting for this update. The next one will come much more swiftly than the last. Hope this chapter satisfies after such a long hiatus! I didn't get into all the juicy bits I had planned (since this got so long somehow), but they'll be coming up soon.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts, my dear readers, after so long! Every comment I've gotten since posting the last chapter made me so happy and helped keep this story in the back of my mind even as other projects took temporary priority.
> 
> Next chapter: Double trouble.


	17. Chapter 13

The study group was Mathias' idea, of course. The book club had disintegrated and he'd given up trying to get the members to attend when they were all getting into finals-stress mode. His solution was a new group for students in the two Western Lit sections only, with the goal of reviewing every book they'd read before the exam date. Ludwig had to admit it wasn't a bad idea in theory; in practice, however, the subject of conversation had so far been the professors rather than the books themselves.

"Kirkland's style is just too… discursive, y'know?" Mathias was saying. He didn't seem to care that they'd gotten off-topic, as long as he was the one doing the talking. "I mean, he'll go off on these tangents that are more his opinion than anything else."

"At least that sounds interesting. God, Khouri can be sooo boring," drawled Feliks, who was in the other section.

Toris, seated next to him, jumped in. "Well, she lectures a lot on historical context, which I think is interesting, but unfortunately there's not whole lot of discussion."

"At least then you know what you're gonna be tested on," added a freckled girl from Ludwig's class whose name he couldn't remember. "Like, I don't even know what to take notes on or what Kirkland wants us to remember. I mean, are we supposed to just regurgitate his opinions on the test?"

Ludwig shifted in his seat. "I don't think that's really fair," he started tentatively. "I mean, Kirkland's said that as long as we can support our argument—"

"Yeah, but the test's not gonna be just essay questions," Mathias interrupted. "We'll have to, like, analyze quotes in paragraph answers and stuff. Not much chance for making an argument in a few sentences—you have to know what he wants you to say."

Ludwig felt ticked off. Maybe only because it was Mathias who was shutting him down. He knew there wasn't much point in challenging him though—it wasn't as if Ludwig had a personal stake in defending their professor.

Freckles nodded in agreement with Mathias. "And some of what he's said in class is honestly just weird. And he won't even let anyone disagree with him!"

"What? What are you talking about?" asked Ludwig, in spite of himself. He didn't understand how his classmates' view of his favorite professor could differ so strongly from his own.

Freckles rolled her eyes. "Like—okay, when we were talking about Madame Bovary, and he went off on that tangent about how adultery is—what was it—a 'social construct' or something, made up to punish promiscuous women?"

Ludwig couldn't hold back a bark of laughter. "Well, doesn't he sort of have a point?"

Freckles looked affronted. "He was talking about marriage as if it were some—joke! Like, does he expect me to write about how marriage is just another patriarchal system of oppression so that I can get an A on my exam? Because, excuse me for not being all fashionable in my opinions, but I happen to believe that marriage is sacred and deserves to be taken seriously."

Ludwig nearly face-palmed. "It's not as if he was saying everyone should commit adultery! Besides, are you saying we should just—never question any of the systems or social constructs that affect our lives?"

Mathias' cool voice interrupted whatever Freckles had been about to say. "What about incest?"

Ludwig's mouth went dry.

He blinked at Mathias, trying to calm his heart that had instantly jumped into his throat.

Mathias was looking right at him, surveying him with a calm but intent gaze.

"Excuse me?" Ludwig forced out, attempting not to panic. Why would Mathias say something like that, out of the blue? But there was no way he was actually implying—even if he did know about Gilbert kissing him at Halloween, and had seen them coming out of the janitor's closet together at the other party…

Mathias shrugged easily. "Yeah, when we were discussing Montaigne, remember? 'On Cannibalism.' He was talking about society's last taboos, saying they're just a matter of 'taste.'"

Ludwig breathed an inward sigh of relief. Mathias was only referring to another of Kirkland's lessons—though his eyes were still trained on Ludwig in an unsettlingly observant way. Was he thinking about when he'd confronted Ludwig before Thanksgiving break? Why did he keep prying? Ludwig was suddenly very glad Angie wasn't present—a fact he suspected was due to their disagreement the night before. He hadn't spoken to her since.

"So," Mathias pressed, "is incest, and its taboo, just a societal construct, too?"

Ludwig fought hard to keep his cool, though he was fairly certain his eyebrow twitched in annoyance. Mathias was just being an asshole now. If Ludwig's story was that he didn't have anything to hide, though, then that was how he would act.

"Well, as I recall," he began carefully, all too aware of how it might look to his peers if he made a misstep here, "Kirkland was only pointing out that different societies and cultures throughout history have had different views of incest, and some were more permissive than others. I think that shows that the taboo is at least partially socially-based."

"But he totally ignored me when I brought up the Westermarck theory, because it wasn't convenient for the point he was making."

"What's the Westermarck theory?" inquired Toris.

Mathias promptly put on his self-important teacher voice. "Basically there was this study that says that, if you grow up with someone from a young age, you won't develop sexual feelings for them. It even holds true for people who aren't related by blood. So, that would indicate there's a biological basis for the taboo based on proximity and exposure."

Ludwig frowned. "But, that doesn't make any sense. If we're all supposed to be so biologically ingrained to oppose incest, why would it need to be taboo? Why would we need all these rules about it? And besides, the taboo applies to people you don't grow up with, too; it's for cousins, and stepsiblings, and relatives you only meet when you're older and everything."

Mathias' eyes narrowed. "Well, the data doesn't lie. If you grow up with someone, you're not gonna end up fucking them!"

Ludwig could feel the anger boiling in his chest. He knew it was dangerous territory, but he couldn't help but retort: "Well clearly, biology isn't enough! Maybe it is true, in general, enough to see a trend in some data. But it's obviously not true for everyone; otherwise it wouldn't even be an issue! That's where society steps in, and codifies things. It fills in the gaps left by 'nature' or whatever, and extends beyond it." Ludwig reeled himself in, struggling to remember what had gotten them into this argument in the first place. "And—and all Kirkland was saying," he stammered, "was that different societies do that in different ways. These rules—against incest or cannibalism or whatever—aren't universal, and it's worth looking at how they're made and enforced."

He forced himself to stop there, feeling like he'd gone on for too long. He felt the eyes of everyone in the room on him.

Luckily, Feliks spoke up before Mathias could say anything more.

"Wow, your class definitely seems way more interesting than ours, if you guys get to have debates like that," he mused.

Freckles sighed. "Whatever, this conversation is freaking me out, so can we just study like we came here to do?"

Ludwig privately agreed with her on that, and was glad when most of the others turned their attention readily to the study packets in front of them. Ludwig began perusing his as well, eager for a change of subject, but he was certain that out of the corner of his eye, Mathias was still watching him.

…

Ludwig had been pacing in the hallway outside Angie's room for longer than he would care to admit, trying to figure out the right way to say what he had to. After a whole day of radio silence, he had caved and texted his girlfriend to ask if they could meet. He couldn't continue to delude himself into hoping she would make the first move; it was his to make. He'd messed up, and he had to set it right.

The problem was, there was no way he could do that. Not truly. Whenever he thought about Angie, all he felt was guilt—partially for things he couldn't even understand, and partially for things he understood all too well.

Finally, he came to the conclusion that he was simply delaying the inevitable; putting it off any longer wasn't going to help him do a better job of apologizing. He steeled himself and knocked on her door.

Angie answered it and looked him over with a carefully schooled expression. Her scrutiny made Ludwig feel vulnerable and transparent. He forced himself to step inside when she made way for him.

Angie closed the door and brushed past him to sit in her desk chair. He noticed she did not extend him an invitation to take a seat, and Ludwig felt quite certain that presuming to do so would be a mistake just then. He was on eggshells.

Angie hadn't spoken a word. She was looking at him expectantly, and he realized with a start that this was it; he'd have to start cold, no pleasantries to ease into it.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, so," he began lamely, fidgeting with the hem of his coat, "I… wanted to apologize."

Angie merely raised an eyebrow, prodding him to continue. She wasn't going to make this easy, he could tell.

Not that he deserved easy.

Ludwig swallowed. "I… was wrong to…" To what? He thought back desperately to what Angie had said last night. "To drink. So much. Last night. Because I know that, um, you wanted, you want, I mean we both want…" He was losing the thread. He ran a nervous hand through his hair and took a deep breath to start over.

"It should be… special," he cringed at his clichéd word choice, "this time. I mean, if we, are going to…" Suddenly he felt queasy even thinking the words.

_What's wrong with me?_

"…to be together. It shouldn't be like the first time. Because now, we're… trying to be in a real relationship, so I should have been more considerate of your feelings and I'm sorry," he finished in a rush.

When Ludwig dared a glance at Angie, she was simply looking at him with the same expression, and he wondered for a panicked moment if there was more he was supposed to say.

He was saved when Angie heaved a sudden sigh and the tension seemed to seep out of her rigid back and shoulders. She looked down at the floor and nodded, once.

"Okay," she said simply.

She sounded sad. Ludwig hadn't expected that. More anger—that, he could have dealt with, but this small, defeated voice; suddenly he hated himself more than ever for making her sound like that.

"Angie, I'm really sorry," he said, more earnestly. Suddenly caught in a wave of gallantry, he charged on: "and I'll make it up to you. I swear, I haven't—I know I haven't been the boyfriend you deserve, but I'll do better. I'm sorry for—"

For so much, but he couldn't say it all. He wracked his mind, and it caught on something that had been nagging him for a while. Something he'd hoped he could simply push down and bury with all his other mortifying memories, chalk it up to drunken indiscretion and move on—but he knew it wouldn't be right.

He sighed deeply. "That first time, in the bar…"

Angie looked up at him curiously and his face grew red; it was a subject they tended to avoid.

"Uh, I'm sorry that I, um…" God, how to phrase it? It was mortifying. Even more mortifying was not being able to talk about sexual things with the one person with whom he was supposed to be sexual. If he was going to do better, he had to get past this.

"I didn't ask you. About… doing anal. And I'm sorry for, for that. I know we should—we should talk about, what we, what we're comfortable doing, or not."

Angie blinked. She looked genuinely surprised, and for a moment Ludwig's guilt burned even worse in his gut, because she didn't know—she didn't know what he'd been thinking about, _whom_ he'd been thinking about, when he'd done that. He tried to shove the memory aside.

"Oh," she said softly, but no longer in the resigned, sad voice. "Um, thank you," she said awkwardly, and looked away for a moment. She let out a nervous laugh and tucked some hair behind an ear—a gesture Ludwig was fond of. It put a small, comforting warmth in his chest, but it didn't drown out his nervousness.

"I didn't expect…" Angie trailed off, her brow furrowed. Finally she seemed to collect herself and looked back at him with the open frankness he admired in her.

"Honestly, I didn't expect you to ever bring that up. I mean, I wouldn't expect any guy to. I mean, it's not as if I… wanted you to stop or anything—" she was gesturing animatedly now, and Ludwig realized with some relief that she was probably just as nervous and uncomfortable as he was—"I mean, I was, um, surprised, but not, like, totally averse… I dunno, though, I guess, yeah, it would have been nice to… to be asked…" She trailed off again, one hand distractedly twirling a strand of hair. Then she added, much more quietly, "I'm not used to guys asking."

Ludwig's chest tightened. He let out a short breath and stared down at his hands. So that's what he was. Just another guy who didn't ask.

He desperately struggled to push aside thoughts of Gilbert in that moment, though the morbid question of whether that applied just as well to his relationship with his brother lingered in the back of his mind.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and he truly meant it, though he couldn't be sure that he wasn't also attempting to apologize to Gilbert.

Just then he remembered something. "Angie—you mentioned, last night, you said something about how hard it's been for you… You, you said you didn't want to talk about it when I wasn't sober… Did it have to do with that? Was it—" guilt constricted his chest once more—"was that your first time?" Never mind that it has also been Ludwig's first time—first time that counted, at least.

"Oh, that was nothing," Angie said, a bit too loudly. She wasn't looking at him. "It wasn't—wasn't my first, don't worry," she laughed. "Don't worry about it."

Ludwig was about to press the issue, unconvinced, when Angie stood up and walked to him.

"I should apologize, too," she said.

Ludwig blinked in surprise. "What for?"

Angie sighed and laced the fingers of one hand through his. He couldn't deny it felt nice.

"I've been… pushing you. That was wrong of me. You'll be ready when you're ready, and I shouldn't put so much pressure on you. It's okay if… you want to take things slow."

Ludwig felt a knot in his stomach he hadn't even been aware of start to relax. "Oh," it was his turn to say. "Thanks."

Angie nodded, then bit her lip, looking like she was carefully considering her next words.

"It's just that… if, you know, if there's something bothering you… you can tell me." She looked at him meaningfully.

Ludwig's mouth was suddenly dry again. "What are you talking about?" He tried to laugh, but it came out forced and breathy.

"Well, you…" Angie knit her brows, looking truly worried. "Ludwig, when I came over, just before Thanksgiving break," she was speaking softly, as if not to scare him off, "and we were in bed, you sort of… froze up, when I touched you," she finished, almost in a whisper.

Ludwig felt nauseous at the memory. His skin prickled with anxious heat.

"So, it's just that… if there's any reason that you don't feel comfortable with that sort of thing, if something… happened to you—"

"What are you saying," he cut in sharply, surprised by the harsh tone of his own voice.

Angie flinched in surprise. "I-I'm just saying, that you can _talk_ to me—"

Ludwig ripped his hand out of Angie's. "There's nothing to talk about!" His voice was too high, his heart was pumping too fast.

"Ludwig…" Angie looked at him with concern, but all Ludwig could see was pity. She felt _sorry_ for him and that—that, he couldn't take.

"No," he said forcefully, distancing himself a step. "I don't know what you think you know, or what you're implying here—"

"Ludwig, please, I'm just—"

"No, no, I'm not—I'm not damaged goods!"

Angie's face went from pleading to hard in a second. "I didn't say that."

"Well, you were thinking it! And I'm not, okay? I'm not!"

There was fury in Angie's eyes again, and if Ludwig hadn't been so preoccupied trying to keep from shaking too hard, he might have also noticed the hurt. The look passed in an instant, though, and Angie's expression was collected once more.

"Ludwig, you can't do this," she said, far too calmly.

"What am I doing?" Ludwig asked, nearly hysterical.

"You're—closing me out again! I'm just trying to talk to you—"

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't talk about things you don't know anything about!" he shouted angrily, not bothering or simply unable to hide the trembling of his hands.

"Get out!" Angie yelled, the change in her demeanor so abrupt and forceful that Ludwig was subdued for a moment.

Angie turned away, holding her midsection. Now Ludwig could see that she was trembling, too, but it did nothing to soothe his own agitation.

"Get out," she repeated, much more quietly but just as vehemently.

"I was leaving anyway," he retorted. A sick sense of déjà vu filled him as he swiftly exited the room of his upset girlfriend for the second time in less than 24 hours. Were they going for some sort of record? He wondered bitterly as he made his way to the stairwell, still shaking.

It took him the walk back to his dorm to calm down. He was glad to find that Feliciano wasn't in the room. He didn't know where his roommate was half the time these days, but he didn't mind it that way. He'd been trying to keep contact with his roommate to a minimum ever since their awkward, aborted attempt at making out on Halloween. He still wasn't sure how much Feliciano remembered.

Ludwig sank down in his desk chair with a deep sigh, running his hand through his hair. He wondered morosely if things with Angie were still salvageable after this, and if he even cared any more.

His eyes landed on the bird brochure he'd brought home from the shelter, lying on his desk where he'd tossed it in a rush.

He thought of Gilbird. He hoped Gilbert would like him.

Gilbert didn't ask questions like Angie did. Ludwig didn't have to explain himself to his brother. It was just so much easier, to be with someone who accepted him as he was, loved him as he was… only, Ludwig hadn't been with Gilbert recently. Not really. Not since…

His fingers lighted on the spot where the patch of gauze was just detectable under his shirt. He pressed, just until it felt sore, and recalled the sensation of his brother's teeth there, then his warm mouth over the wound, taking away the pain.

Ludwig sighed and dropped his fingers. He didn't want the bite to get infected. He'd been taking care to put antibacterial ointment on it every day. He didn't think he could face the looks he would get from the doctor if he had to go to Health Services.

His hand went to his coat pocket to rummage for his phone. He almost felt pathetic calling Gilbert in this state, but he needed to try. He needed to see his brother.

…

Gilbert lay splayed on Matthew's bed, staring at the history textbook propped open between his elbows. He'd given up reading it a while ago. His mind kept replaying events of the last week, unbidden; he felt like a spectator strapped to a cinema chair inside his own skull.

It had all started with the confrontation with his father; the man had raised a hand to him for the first time in his life. Gilbert couldn't help but wonder if he'd deserved it. A part of him believed he must have, if finally, after so many years of verbal conflict, his father had snapped and struck him. That didn't make him resent the man's actions any less, though.

Then there was Ludwig. Another line crossed. The bite, the pain Gilbert had inflicted, the physical wound he'd left on his brother—he had never intentionally done anything like that before, and no matter what Ludwig said, it unsettled him.

The violence was like a disease: passed first from his father to himself, and then from him to Ludwig. It wasn't an excuse, though. He couldn't blame what he'd done to Ludwig on their father.

He remembered Ludwig crying in the bathtub, broken expression on his face, like something had cracked inside of him. Gilbert had done that. In the space of a weekend, of one night, his whole family had been fractured, and he was the source of the rupture. He wondered if the pieces would ever fit back together.

Remembering his father's words from the next day, he doubted it.

_If you are lying, Gilbert Beilschmidt—if you have laid a single finger on him—so help me God, I will disown you._

His stomach felt cold thinking of it.

 _Do you honestly think I'm capable of hurting my own brother?_ he had retorted.

 _I have to wonder,_ was his father's reply.

Gilbert had to wonder, too.

 _It is so fucking exhausting to have someone else practically living their life for you._ He bitterly regretted those words he'd spoken to Ludwig. As if it was Ludwig's fault, as if it was Ludwig's responsibility to stop him from doing what he never should have done in the first place. The worst part was, Ludwig seemed to believe him.

Gilbert had promised him they'd start over, but he was doing a pretty shit job of it.

_I'm your brother. If you can talk to anyone, it should be me. If you're serious about starting over, making things right between us—then you have to make the effort._

That's what Ludwig had told him yesterday. The problem was, any effort seemed so futile to Gilbert. The idea of starting over—it was only something he'd said out of desperation, without thinking. What were they supposed to start from, exactly? From brotherhood? What did that mean, anyway?

He had watched Matt and Alfred at their family dinner, and their interactions had been so foreign to him, like their gestures and teasing were some unintelligible language. Several times since then, Gilbert had considered asking Matt more about his relationship with his brother, if they'd always been that way, anything to gain some insight—but he'd lost his nerve each time, embarrassed and ashamed.

 _I'm your brother. If you can talk to anyone, it should be me._ Hadn't Matt said something similar, about talking to him, because that's what boyfriends did? Everyone was asking Gilbert to confide in them, to open himself to them, to make himself vulnerable to them.

He used to tell Ludwig everything—or nearly everything. Some things he hid, as he got older, and he'd suffered for it. He needed Ludwig, needed someone to pour out his shame and pain to, because he wasn't strong enough to keep it all to himself. Gilbert hated that fact. He hated how much he relied on Ludwig, how weak he was in front of him, when he was supposed to be the older brother, the stronger one, who would lead the way for the younger. Instead, he asked too much of his little brother, things he had no right to ask. Things he didn't want to think about. _A square of gauze taped to his brother's chest…_ Gilbert sighed. It was time he shouldered his burdens himself.

How could he expect Ludwig to understand, anyway? Ludwig had never gone through half the things Gilbert had, and now, to add to the list, Ludwig had never been threatened with disownment, nor struck by their father.

A hot tendril of anger flared in Gilbert's stomach. Ludwig still had the nerve to try to reason with him about their father, try to explain their father's side of things, as if Gilbert cared to know. Why couldn't Ludwig just be on his side, once and for all? Weren't brothers supposed to have each other's backs?

But then, what right did he have to say what brothers were supposed to do? They weren't supposed to do what he had done. He wondered—in the fervor of that moment when he had Ludwig pinned to the bed, perfectly passive and defenseless, the remnants of a high and the deep hurt of betrayal still coursing through Gilbert's veins—if he hadn't felt a need to mark his younger brother, to punish him, for the fact that he could never truly understand any of these things that Gilbert had suffered, no matter how sympathetic he claimed to be.

The thought made Gilbert shudder as soon as it entered his head. He tried to dislodge it—it was just a theory, it didn't have to be true. He didn't want it to be true. Maybe, though, his reluctance to open up to Ludwig, to share his troubles, wasn't so altruistic as he'd like to believe. Maybe it had more to do with resentment than protectiveness. He sighed deeply again.

"Ottomans got you down?" piped up Matthew from his seat at the desk.

Gilbert looked up with a start; he had almost forgotten Matt was there. He blinked down at the page he'd been on for the better part of an hour: something about World War One and the rise of Ataturk.

"Uh, yeah," he laughed weakly, not meeting his boyfriend's eyes. "Just getting tired I guess."

"Hmm." Matthew paused. "Sure there's nothing else bothering you? Never heard you sigh so often or deeply at a textbook before."

"Clearly, you've never been around me while I'm reading a textbook on modern Middle Eastern history." Gilbert tapped the book in front of him. "Two or three sighs per page is par for the course, really." He attempted a smile, but quickly gave up under Matthew's unconvinced gaze. "Well, maybe I'm a bit distracted."

Matthew nodded slowly. "Why don't we call it a night. My brain's oversaturated with biochem, anyway; I think it would be a physical impossibility to absorb any more information right now."

"Yeah," Gilbert rubbed his eyes, "I should be getting home."

"Oh," was Matthew's soft reply.

Gilbert glanced at him as he slid off the bed and tried to ignore the hints of confusion and disappointment on his boyfriend's face. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I, uh, have a pretty early morning tomorrow, and I'm beat…" he evaded, and quickly stuffed his studying material into his backpack.

"Right, okay, I'll—see you tomorrow, then."

"Yup. Good night." Gilbert didn't look at Matthew's face as he went in for a peck on the cheek.

At the last moment, Matthew turned his head so that the kiss landed on his lips. Gilbert gamely went along with it, but was caught off guard by the words that came out of his boyfriend's mouth next.

"Love you."

Two simple words he'd heard and repeated back countless times before. But something was different this time. The response didn't slip out on reflex; it caught in his throat.

Gilbert tried to recover quickly, but he knew Matthew had noticed the hesitation. "Love you too," he managed, and plastered on a smile. It didn't reach his eyes.

He left before it could get any more awkward, silently hoping he wouldn't run into Ludwig or any of his roommates in the hall or stairway.

Gilbert mulled over the situation as he trudged across campus, huddled in his coat. Why couldn't he say the words back to Matthew with ease? What had changed? He didn't think his feelings towards Matthew were any different. In fact, he'd been spending even more time with him than usual since the break. Maybe he'd just been out of it because of all his thoughts about Ludwig, and about their father…

He seemed to be doing everything wrong, recently. He'd been trying so hard to just be _normal_ for once, since he'd gotten back from that disastrous holiday. Apparently, though, he was incapable of normal. He was incapable of getting it right. He knew he wasn't a good son, but being a good brother, a good boyfriend: they were just as fruitless. A cynical voice in the back of his mind questioned if he'd really been trying hard enough.

What was he supposed to do? In a situation like tonight, he felt guilty leaving Matt when clearly Matt wanted him to stay. But if he had stayed, he still would have felt guilty, for keeping secrets of such magnitude from his boyfriend, or maybe even for spending yet another night with Matthew instead of with Ludwig. That was the one constant when he was around Matthew these days. His mind was always turning back to his brother, and he was always feeling guilty for it.

It was no different when he was with Ludwig, though. Act too brotherly, and face the guilt of disappointing him yet again. Act too sexually, and that cynical thing in Gilbert's head would dredge up the image of blood pearling from the wound on Ludwig's chest, Ludwig's broken expression in the bathtub, his father's words: _if you have laid a single finger on him…_

Gilbert was tired of feeling guilty. Of feeling wrong. He just wanted one evening where he didn't have to question everything, where he could feel confident and carefree.

That was how he found himself standing in his bathroom, staring at the plastic bag of cocaine Lovino had given him—sold him, on credit—in his palm.

He recalled the warm, inflated feeling in his chest after that first line, the rush to his head, the feeling he could take on the world. All he wanted was a taste of that again. Just a taste.

He knew enough to know he didn't know what he was doing. He imitated Lovino's actions and prepared the line well enough, but he didn't fool himself into thinking he was an expert. He didn't even know if anyone aside from the worst sort of workaholics took cocaine when they were alone in their rooms, and he wasn't certain how he would feel the effects without someone else to interact with. It had to be better than nothing, though.

He'd learned his lesson; he'd only do one line. He knew it wasn't a solution for anything. He knew that. But right now, he just needed—just a little—something, anything, just a pick-me-up to get him to the next day. Then tomorrow, with a clearer mind, he could face his problems head-on.

That was what Gilbert told himself as he snorted the line off the bathroom counter.

He took a few deep breaths after, eyes watering at the sting in his nostril. Calmly, deliberately, he tied off the rest of the bag. He looked at himself in the mirror, and waited.

He had just begun to think that he'd done it wrong and had turned back towards his bedroom in mild disappointment when he noticed things were a bit—different.

Gilbert looked down at his hands, and he felt like he was seeing them for the first time. His skin was so translucent.

His phone rang; a loud, sharp, bright sound. He snatched it from his pocket and answered it without thinking.

"Hello?"

" _Hey, Gilbert. Uh, it's me."_

A smile spread over Gilbert's face. "Ludwig." His brother's name felt warm and round on his tongue.

" _Yeah…"_

Gilbert was too mesmerized by the rich layers of Ludwig's baritone to pay any notice to the emotion in his voice.

" _Uh, are you… free? By any chance? It's okay if you're not, I was just—"_

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm free. I'm totally free."

" _Oh, great! Do you mind if—I come over? Just to talk. I just—want to talk."_

"Yes! That's—that sounds great. Good. Yeah, I want to see you." And Gilbert did; he had a good feeling about this. They would work things out. Maybe do a bit more than that. God, Ludwig's voice was sexy. Had he ever noticed that before?

" _You—you do? Okay, I'll come right over."_

"Awesome! That's awesome. See you soon. Hurry!"

" _Uh, okay! Okay, see you soon. Bye."_

"Bye." Gilbert grinned as he hung up the phone. He fidgeted with it for a moment before stuffing it back in his pocket.

This was good. He missed his brother, if he was being honest with himself. And he missed how Ludwig made him feel. Desirable. Sure, Matt wanted him, too, but not the way Ludwig did. There just wasn't the same frisson with Matt, the same need. It was nice enough, but never as exhilarating as being with his brother. Gilbert's stomach bubbled with excitement just thinking about it. Why hadn't they spent more time together since the break? Anything that had been keeping them apart seemed so trivial, suddenly.

Gilbert realized he was pacing, and decided he needed to _do_ something. He went back to his bathroom mirror.

He thought he looked pretty good. His eyes were striking in that lighting. Had he ever seen them quite that shade before? He leaned in close for a better view, and with fascination noted the complex swirls of color in his irises. It was a shame they weren't more accentuated by his lashes. They were so pale, so easy to miss. He wanted to look good for Ludwig. Wanted to give him something good. Something better than ever before.

The grin spread back over Gilbert's face. He had an idea.

…

Ten minutes later, Ludwig was nearing Gilbert's house when he received a text.

 _Door's open lock behind u when u come in_ , followed by a kissing emoji. That confused him, more than anything. Gilbert had a penchant for cute emoticons, but this came entirely out of the blue. And he had sounded so excited on the phone, maybe even—happy? Ludwig's stomach fluttered hopefully at the thought. A part of him had to wonder what the hell had happened to lift Gilbert's spirits like that, but another part told him not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Whatever the cause of Gilbert's sudden optimism, Ludwig would take it any day over the moody Gilbert of the past week.

Sure enough, when he reached the house, Ludwig found it unlocked and entered. A puzzled looking Vash appeared at the end of the hallway in the lounge as Ludwig made his way to the stairs.

"Oh, Ludwig. How did you get in?"

Ludwig felt heat rise in his cheeks. "Hey, Vash. Ah, Gilbert left the door unlocked for me. I locked it again, though." Vash had always unsettled him, especially since Ludwig had made out with Vash's—unbeknownst to him at the time—underage little sister. Not that Vash was aware of that. Hopefully.

Vash grunted, which apparently meant he was satisfied with the answer, because he disappeared back towards the kitchen. Ludwig let out the breath he'd been subconsciously holding and took the stairs two at a time.

He knocked on his brother's door and, not receiving an answer, opened it warily.

The room was empty.

Ludwig frowned as he stepped inside. "Gilbert?" he called.

"Ludwig!" came his brother's voice from behind the bathroom door. "Come in, come in!"

"Um, I'm in…" Ludwig closed and locked the door behind him, just in case.

"Well, sit down. In the comfy chair. Be out in a moment. I have a surprise!"

Curiosity and trepidation fought for dominance in his gut as Ludwig removed his coat and took a seat in the armchair. Gilbert had a mixed track record when it came to surprises.

"Are you sitting?"

"Yes, I'm sitting."

"Okay, close your eyes. I'm coming out."

Ludwig's confusion and nervousness increased as he shut his eyes.

"Are they closed?"

"Yes," he responded with a note of exasperation.

"Okay. Don't look."

"Got it…"

Ludwig heard the bathroom door open and close, and heard Gilbert walk to his desk. Music began playing—something electronic, slow and bass-heavy, loud enough to mask their voices through the walls—and then Gilbert was standing behind the armchair, running his hands down Ludwig's shoulders.

Ludwig tried to look up, but was quickly chastised. "No! Keep them closed. Not yet."

"Gilbert, what is this about…" he grumbled.

"You'll see…"

Gilbert took a hold of his arms and pulled them somewhat awkwardly behind his back. Ludwig frowned, and his pulse spiked when he felt something silky—a tie?—drag over his skin before being wrapped around his wrists.

"Gilbert, what are you doing?" he asked, alarmed. He forced himself to keep his eyes closed.

He felt Gilbert's breath, hot on his ear. "Remember that time we watched porn together? I remember what you said you liked…"

Ludwig's mouth went dry as the tie was knotted. It wasn't terribly tight—he was sure he could get his hands out of it if he really wanted to—but he was unused to the feeling of being restrained.

"Uh, but I've never—"

He felt Gilbert's finger at his lips. "If you want me to undo it I will, but just give it a chance."

Ludwig swallowed. His heart was racing. This was not what he had been expecting. What had gotten into his brother? It wasn't exactly unwelcome—hadn't he been wanting more attention from Gilbert?—but it was all so sudden and incongruous. He still had his shoes on, for God's sake.

The unexplained change in Gilbert's behavior put him on edge. And _bondage_ —he felt embarrassed just thinking the word—even something as tame as a simple tie around the wrists—it was something they had never discussed. Ludwig would be lying if he said the thought had never crossed his mind, but he had always considered it one of those 'I'm fine just seeing it in porn rather than trying it in real life' things. He'd had no idea that Gilbert would actually want to try it out, let alone initiate it himself without warning. Ludwig was torn between excitement at his brother's enthusiasm and concern—or perhaps more than that, hurt—at his lack of communication.

Gilbert was in front of him when he finally said, "Okay, you can open your eyes."

Ludwig opened them. And he stared.

"Gilbert—what…?"

His brother—though Ludwig was having trouble believing it was his brother—grinned back impishly.

His eyes were rimmed in heavy black liner, his lashes accentuated with mascara. Ludwig had never seen them that way in his life, and the effect was profound. The dark makeup emphasized his pale eyes in a way his natural, nearly invisible eyelashes didn't. It changed his entire face—he'd even darkened his eyebrows to match, and there was a trace of gloss on his lips. Gilbert looked like a different person, dramatic and mysterious.

Ludwig tore his eyes away from his brother's face to trail them down his body. He was shirtless, his white skin contrasting sharply with his black jeans. Though Ludwig was still slightly freaked out by the whole situation, there was no denying that Gilbert oozed sex appeal, and it was having a definite effect on him. He was slightly ashamed to admit it, even to himself.

"Like it?" Gilbert broke through his thoughts.

Ludwig wet his lips and caught himself nodding distractedly. He cleared his throat and struggled to find his voice. "Uh, yeah, but, what—why are you—"

Gilbert settled his hands on Ludwig's shoulders with an easy smile. "I was just looking at myself in the mirror and thought I could use something a little extra, you know?"

"Okay, but—"

"It's been ages since I put on makeup. It's sorta fun, though. You should try it sometime."

"I don't think—"

"Oh my God, Liz used to adore giving me makeovers. Went to a couple LGBTA dances all done up. One time she even did the whole drag get-up on me. She wasn't bad at it, either. I swear, there's nothing that girl can't do. It was a blast." Gilbert was trailing his hands over the back and arms of the chair and pacing from side to side as he did. "You know, it's really freeing, in a way. I can see why girls like it. We're sorta missing out. It, like, makes you feel all eye catching, confident. It shouldn't just be a feminine thing, you know? Not that there's anything wrong with guys expressing a more feminine side, I mean, everyone's got a bit of both in them, right?"

Gilbert was talking too fast; it was too much information for Ludwig to absorb at once. He'd never had any inkling of his brother's penchant for wearing makeup.

"Where did you even get it?" he butt in.

"Oh, from Liz. Ages ago, I mean. It's definitely not the best quality, after all this time, but it does the trick, don't you think?"

Gilbert grinned at him again and all Ludwig could do was stare. He shook his head. He had to get a handle on the situation.

"Okay, that's great, you look—good. But, what are you doing? Why did you tie my hands?"

"Oh, that—well, I didn't get all sexy just so we could talk…" Gilbert practically purred, dragging a hand down Ludwig's chest. There was a feverish blaze in his eyes; his pupils were blown open.

Ludwig licked his lips again. "Um, okay, okay…" He was far too distracted by Gilbert's fingertips skimming under the hem of his shirt. "B-but I still don't get—"

He was silenced with his brother's warm lips.

Ludwig was conflicted for a split second before giving in and opening his mouth. He decided, after all the shit they'd been through, he could allow himself to enjoy one kiss. He deserved at least that.

Gilbert didn't seem to be thinking much of enjoyment, though. He was forceful and impatient. He sucked harshly at Ludwig's lips and tongue without finesse; their teeth clacked together before he pulled back, eyes hooded.

Ludwig whined in frustration, both at the loss of contact, and at how his brother had managed to derail his line of thought yet again.

"Gilbert," he panted, "we need to talk—"

"Shh, shh," Gilbert shushed, running both hands up under Ludwig's shirt. "We can talk later."

Ludwig was about to complain when Gilbert's mouth found his neck. Instead, he gasped and shivered. He instantly felt a growing discomfort at the constraint of his pants and let out a helpless groan. God, he wanted this so bad, to feel the physical proof of his brother's devotion again…

His mouth still glued to a sensitive spot just below Ludwig's ear, Gilbert slid easily into his lap, straddling his thighs.

Ludwig moved to clutch Gilbert closer to him—and found he couldn't. He growled at the feeling of the tie pulling taught against his wrists.

"Really, though," Gilbert whispered right into his ear, "you do have to keep quiet. The others are home…"

Ludwig bit his lip. "We shouldn't be doing this here—"

Gilbert kissed him harshly once more, pulling on his lower lip with his teeth before breathing, "Why do you think I put the music on? Just don't make too much noise, little brother."

Ludwig had to choke down a whimper at that. It was all so _wrong_ —and doubly so given recent events. He was fairly sure that both biting and light bondage fell into the same quadrant of depravity, a kind he had never seen from his brother before. It knotted his stomach and brought him to the knife's edge between thrill and nausea.

As for himself… Hadn't he just recently come to the conclusion that he had been manipulating Gilbert, intentionally or not? And yet, now—when Gilbert's lips were at his throat and his fingers were scrambling at the button of his pants—it seemed Gilbert wanted this badly, and Ludwig wanted so very much to believe that.

By the time Gilbert's hand slipped inside his pants to press, firm and _sure_ , against his growing erection, all second-guessing was banished from Ludwig's mind, and he was reduced to a simple, thin line of _want_.

The restraint on his wrists was torture. He longed to touch Gilbert back, needed to feel him, solid and real, under his palms—

He didn't realize he'd been leaning so far forward until Gilbert pushed him back, hard, into the chair.

"Stay." His voice was no longer playful, but dark and full of desire.

Ludwig's eyes widened and his breath quickened. To his embarrassment, he felt himself harden further from the one, simple word.

Gilbert curled his fingers around the waist of Ludwig's jeans and the boxers beneath them and tugged, sharp and efficient. Ludwig lifted his hips to help, and Gilbert had his pants to his knees in seconds. He wasted no time in taking a hold of his brother.

Ludwig's eyes clamped shut at the sensation of Gilbert's long, deft fingers encircling him. He threw his head back and gave a full-throated moaned when Gilbert began stroking.

"Shh, shhh," he felt Gilbert breathe against his forehead as he ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair. Ludwig's head fell forward into his brother's chest as he strained against the tie, struggling to swallow down the noises that threatened to bubble up his throat.

"Mmffu—ah, Gilbert—"

"Shhh…" Gilbert thumbed over the head of his cock, and Ludwig had to bite his tongue.

"You keep, saying that," he panted, "but you're not making it very easy."

Gilbert laughed breathily. The sound pooled warm and content in Ludwig's chest. Maybe this was what they needed. Just to be close again. Maybe it could make things right.

He found his nose pressed into the warm flesh of Gilbert's pectoral, and began enthusiastically laving his tongue over it. Salty. Perfect. Gilbert gave a contented grunt in response.

"Please, please…" Ludwig whispered into his skin, "let me touch you, I want to touch you back…" There was a small part of him that, even now, felt mortified to ask such a thing of his brother so unabashedly. But if Gilbert was going to act shamelessly, Ludwig wanted to try to as well.

Gilbert pulled his head back with one hand and grinned down at him as he gave a particularly wicked twist of the other wrist. "Just let me take care of you," he murmured.

Ludwig had the odd thought that his brother almost looked like a complete stranger, feminine and seductive, otherworldly even, with those dark eyes staring down at him as he said the words. The strangeness of it only heightened his arousal.

He was melting under Gilbert's hands. There was nothing for him to do but feel, take everything Gilbert was giving; it was almost too much all at once. He was utterly helpless. His head found Gilbert's shoulder again and he panted his need, open mouthed, into his skin, only to be pulled up into another punishing kiss.

He was vaguely aware of Gilbert shifting, of more skin replacing the rough touch of denim. He realized, through the haze and humid pressure of another mouth against his, that Gilbert was now completely naked in his lap. The stroking hand left him for an unbearable moment, and when it returned he felt the shocking cold of something wet covering his erection. It quickly warmed as Gilbert spread the lubricant, and Ludwig bit back a groan at the sweet, smooth sensation, arms struggling futilely to reach forward and wrap around his brother.

Gilbert leaned in close until they were flush against each other. Everything was warmth and flesh against his stomach where his shirt was hitched up. Ludwig wished terribly that he could rip his shirt off entirely, feel Gilbert's body against his own without impediment.

His breath caught when, without warning, he felt his cock being pressed into the soft warmth between the cheeks of Gilbert's ass.

" _Oh—_ Gilbert—"

" _Shhhh_ , let me…" Gilbert breathed against his lips. He pressed further.

There was a moment of resistance, and then Ludwig felt himself slide inside the enveloping heat, still slippery with lubricant. His mouth fell open in a silent moan. It occurred to him that Gilbert must have prepared himself beforehand. The thought was an incredible turn-on, but he was soon distracted by the reality of Gilbert lowering himself onto his cock. His head hit the back of the chair and everything was _heat slick tight yes yes—_

The silent moan quickly became vocalized as Gilbert began to shift around him, drag up and push down—

A hand clamped down on his mouth. "Shh!" was the simple command.

Ludwig was nearly in tears with the effort of complying. His shoulders trembled as his hands flexed helplessly in their bonds. He peered up at his brother through damp lashes, captivated by the play of emotions over his strange, new face as he rocked back and forth, swiveled his hips. His hand fell from Ludwig's lips; there was a frown on his face, as if deep in thought. Then a grimace of pain or pleasure; then a blissed-out, faraway look and the shadow of a smile.

Gilbert was beautiful. Under any other circumstances Ludwig would have found his appearance too bizarre to appreciate, but now, all inhibitions banished, he was sure there was no sight more gorgeous. Ludwig was overcome.

"Gilbert—" he sobbed, hips bucking up, needing _more_ of the perfection that was his brother's body. God, he'd missed this.

Gilbert didn't quite manage to stifle a groan himself. He pushed his face into Ludwig's cheek to muffle his sounds and redoubled his efforts. He moved faster, squeezing desperately around the cock inside him. He panted moist against Ludwig's ear, still trying to hush him with each shallow breath. " _Shh, shh, hah, shhh_ …"

One of Gilbert's hands was between his own legs. The other grabbed at anything it could reach under Ludwig's shirt. His fingers brushed against the gauze taped under Ludwig's nipple, and Ludwig hissed at the sudden twinge it provoked in the wound. It wound the hot coil in his gut tighter.

Gilbert's fingers found the bandage again, purposefully this time. They smoothed over it as he continued his movements, never slowing. If anything, it egged him on.

Ludwig thrust upwards in urgent, short jerks. He could barely breathe he was so close, if only he could touch Gilbert, God, just a little more—

The fingers curled around the edge of the bandage, and with one sharp tug, it was off. Ludwig gasped. The fingers pressed flat against the bite mark, sending a dull stab through Ludwig's ribs and straight to his groin.

With a startled grunt, Ludwig came hard. His whole body curled forward; his fingers twitched behind his back as he found his release deep inside Gilbert's body.

There was nothing but the high of orgasm for a few long moments. When he became aware of his surroundings once more, delightfully boneless in the cushioning chair, he saw Gilbert, still seated on his cock and pumping himself with fervent strokes. His face was screwed up in concentration, his mouth open and pink and soft looking. His hips jerked a few times, and with a shudder he spilled his come onto Ludwig's exposed stomach.

Gilbert stilled, breathing hard for several seconds. His thick, dark lashes fluttered open and he was staring straight back at Ludwig.

Gilbert looked mollified, subdued. He held Ludwig's gaze for an inscrutable moment, then glanced away.

As Ludwig's faculties returned, so did his self-consciousness. The music sounded too loud, though he was glad to have it rather than silence. The realization came over him that he still had to talk to Gilbert, to understand why this had just happened.

Gilbert shifted off Ludwig's lap and stood, reaching for a tissue to wipe away the semen that dripped down his thigh. Ludwig had to look away, red in the face. Suddenly embarrassed by his own nakedness, he tried pulling his hands free from the tie.

"Let me," said Gilbert softly, leaning over him to reach the knot. There were a few heart-pounding seconds of proximity to his brother—his musky scent filling his nostrils—and then Ludwig's hands were free. They tingled as he rubbed them together. He made quick work of pulling up his pants.

"Uh, I have to…" He didn't finish the sentence as he stood and moved towards the bathroom to take care of his exposed wound and the mess on his stomach.

Ludwig grabbed some toilet paper and wiped the come off quickly before turning to the mirror. He stared at himself, trying to wrap his mind around what had transpired. He felt lightheaded.

It was good, though. It had to be. Gilbert wasn't avoiding him anymore. Now they could talk, and things would be fine.

He turned his attention to the bite mark, examining it in the mirror. There didn't appear to be any damage, and it hadn't started bleeding again. In fact, it was considerably less red than it had been just a couple days ago. With time, it would fade. Ludwig gently washed it with soap, just to be sure.

That was when his eyes fell on the small plastic bag sitting on the counter.

He frowned, not understanding what he was looking at for a moment. Then it clicked into place. Gilbert's inexplicably improved mood; his near manic energy when Ludwig had arrived.

Ludwig felt like he had been punched in the gut.

He picked up the bag with a trembling hand. The bathroom he was standing in was distant and hazy, like something viewed through a smeared window. He floated to the doorway. His eyes fell on his brother; he'd begun dressing in the middle of the room.

Gilbert's eyes met his, then flicked to what he held in his hand. He froze.

There was silence for a beat. Then they spoke at once:

"Ludwig, it's not—"

"Is this—?"

Gilbert grimaced. He strode forward, reaching for the bag. Ludwig put a hand up to stop him.

Reality crashed down around his head, snapping him from his daze. The betrayal burned in his chest.

"Is this cocaine?" His voice was low and fierce, heavy with hurt. "Did you take it? Were you high…?" He faltered.

Gilbert growled in annoyance. "It was before you called. It's not like I was expecting you to come over. I was just gonna—look, it's none of your business, give it back." He reached for it again, but Ludwig held it higher.

"None of my business? How can you say that? Gil—after what happened with Dad? Are you insane? Or are you just stupid?"

Gilbert's eyes flashed dangerously. He made a sweep at the bag, but Ludwig stepped back.

"You have no right to judge me!" Gilbert yelled. "You have no idea—" He ran his hands through his hair in agitation. "It's not even a big deal! I hardly took any!"

"It is a big deal!"

"You fucking hypocrite! I gave you what you wanted, didn't I?"

Ludwig's ears rang as he stared at his brother. His chest was tight. His eyes smarted with the threat of tears. When he looked into his brother's face, he couldn't see anything but seething anger.

Ludwig's vision narrowed. He spun around and made for the toilet. Without hesitation, he tore the bag open over the bowl and dumped the powder into the water.

" _No!_ " Gilbert screeched. He dashed forward, barreling into Ludwig and toppling him to the floor.

Ludwig felt his breath leave him as he hit the tile. Pain blossomed in his side where he had hit the corner of the countertop. Gilbert was on top of him, face contorted and hand raised to strike.

Ludwig shut his eyes tight, waiting for the blow. It never came.

He squinted up at his brother. Gilbert was staring down at where one hand was twisted into Ludwig's shirt. The fire had left his eyes; his other hand dropped slowly to rest on Ludwig's chest.

The dark makeup didn't make his eyes look beautiful any more; they looked sunken, hollow. His gaze was blank. His lips trembled.

"I—I'm sorry," he rasped. He pulled himself off of his brother into a seated position and reached a hesitant hand forward. "Here—"

Ludwig sat up and shifted away. "I'm fine," he said stiffly, holding the place on his ribs he was sure would be sporting a colorful bruise by tomorrow.

Gilbert leaned back against the side of the bathtub with a defeated sigh. He looked frail, deflated, bereft of the confidence that had coursed through him minutes ago. He stared at Ludwig with a tortured expression.

"You're not fine," he whispered. Ludwig frowned at him.

"I'm not fine," Gilbert continued. "None of this is fucking fine." He rested his head in his hands.

Ludwig looked away. He couldn't disagree.

When Gilbert spoke again, his voice was thick in his throat. He kept his head down. "I can't—" his breath hitched, "I can't do this."

Ludwig's eyes darted back to his brother, tendrils of anxiety encircling his chest once more.

"Gilbert," he started apprehensively.

"No." Gilbert shook his head. "This has to—" He took a gulp of air and whispered, "I can't keep hurting you."

Panic gripped Ludwig's chest. _No. No no no._ He had to stop this line of thought right here, before Gilbert could get any further.

"Gilbert. We'll get through this," he said, trying to keep his voice firm, level. "The drugs are gone. It's over. That's all this was—"

"No! That's not all!" Gilbert's eyes were back on Ludwig, suddenly ablaze. "Don't you fucking see what's going on here?"

"Nothing's going on! Nothing we can't fix," he pleaded.

"Oh, that's a change of tune! You were just telling me a minute ago what a big deal it was!"

"That was just the drugs! Gilbert, you're twisting things around—"

Gilbert shook his head. "You're not listening to me! I can't keep—"

"You're not hurting me!" Ludwig tried desperately. "You don't have to do—"

"Then why can't I look at you without feeling disgusted with myself?!"

Ludwig blinked. He looked down. Curled forward, hugged his thighs to his chest. For a moment he couldn't speak, could only stare at the khaki fabric of his pants.

"Don't," he finally whispered. "Please don't say that." His breathing was erratic, his vocal chords wouldn't work right. His voice bubbled up in his throat sporadically.

"Don't—don't say that to me. I can't—that's not—it can't—" A panicked sob struggled for release. He choked it down. "I can't hear that from you, you don't mean that. Please, _please_. Take that back. You don't mean it, you don't mean it—"

His vision blurred and he had to cut himself off. He could feel he was losing control of his voice.

He didn't look back at his brother, but when Gilbert spoke, Ludwig could hear the defeat in his voice.

"I think," he began. He sounded empty. "We should take a break."

Ludwig blinked again. He couldn't stop the tear that escaped down his cheek. He shook his head, kept shaking it. He wanted to speak, but all that came out for a few seconds was a closed-mouth groan. His chest hurt so much, like there was something pushing against his sternum, trying to crack it open.

Then, finally, "N-no. _No._ Y-your not," he inhaled shakily, "thinking straight. It's not—you h-haven't given it a real chance, w-we have to try to—"

"Ludwig, you're the one who's not thinking straight!" Gilbert sounded pained.

Ludwig clutched his head. "B-but it was the drugs," he keened.

"It's not just the drugs! It's _everything_! Everything is so _fucked up_. And I don't know, maybe—maybe it's been fucked up for a long time, but I need a break, Lud. I can't, I can't. Can't do this to you."

"You're not," Ludwig forced out. "You're not doing—anything to me—"

"Stop lying to yourself," Gilbert whispered bitterly.

Ludwig's throat closed up. He just stared at his knees, the texture of the fabric stretched over them. What he wanted to say was _I'm doing it to you._ What he wanted to say was _it's me and I'm sorry. I can never be sorry enough._

"Look at us," continued Gilbert, with a mirthless laugh. "Do either one of us look happy? Huh?"

Ludwig pressed a hand over his face. His chest was bursting but he still couldn't get the words out. _Stop blaming yourself. It's not you. I'll try harder, I promise. If we both just try a bit harder—_

"I need a break," Gilbert repeated. "We both need a break."

The voice in Ludwig's head stopped dead. For a long moment, his mind was just blank.

Finally, he lowered his hand. He stared at the threads of his pants, the pattern of stitching, so tiny it was barely detectable.

"How long," he heard himself say.

"I don't know."

"How do we—what do we do."

"I think we should just—stay away from each other, for a while."

It was so unbearably matter of fact, like they were holding a calm discussion about his own death sentence.

"Just a while?"

Gilbert was silent. Then, very quietly, "I don't know."

Ludwig felt the words slide into him like a knife. Finally, he looked at his brother.

Gilbert was a bizarre sight. Shirtless, hunched over, black streaks down his face from his red-rimmed eyes. Like something out of an art film. The remnants of the makeup masked him, made him untouchable. With longing, Ludwig thought how beautiful he looked, even now.

"But—" Ludwig hated how small his voice sounded almost as much as he hated the question he had to ask. "It's just a break, right? It's not—for good?" His gut was a tangled, nauseous mess.

Gilbert placed his head back in his hands. His shoulders were rigid. Pale and thin. He looked brittle in the harsh bathroom light.

"You should go."

The knot in Ludwig's stomach tightened sickeningly. He stood swiftly, swayed and gripped the counter as darkness clouded his vision for several seconds. He staggered through the doorway before he could fully see again and grabbed his coat. He had to get out, away, it was all so _wrong_ , none of this was supposed to be happening—

He nearly crashed into Elizaveta outside Gilbert's bedroom door.

She looked shocked, uncertain. "I heard—is everything okay in there—?"

Ludwig barely registered her words. He dropped his head and brushed past her without responding.

He kept his eyes on his feet as he rushed down the stairs. As he reached the bottom, Vash stuck his head out from his doorway.

"Hey," he began, irritated, "next time you decide to have a family spat do it somewhere else. Some people actually need to get some sleep around here—hey, do you hear me?"

Vash's aggravated yells followed Ludwig down the hallway. Ludwig didn't stop. The knot in his stomach was burning—almost to the door—twisting tighter and tighter—

He stumbled outside and down the porch steps just in time to bend over the bushes and heave.

_I think we should take a break._

His windpipe constricted; he retched. Nothing came out.

_We both need a break._

He couldn't breathe. He could feel the heat in his face, strain in his muscles.

_We should just stay away from each other for a while._

He choked and coughed, shredding his throat.

_Why can't I look at you without feeling disgusted with myself?_

One final heave—a gasp; he was left trembling, clutching his aching stomach and the railing of the steps.

He wiped his mouth, unfolded himself and felt his abdominals protest. They would be sore tomorrow. Everything would be sore tomorrow. Ludwig didn't want to think about tomorrow.

He didn't want to think about a tomorrow where he couldn't call his brother just to hear his voice. A tomorrow where his brother would turn the other way if he saw him approaching on the walkway. A tomorrow where he couldn't wave hello to his brother, couldn't ask for his brother's advice, couldn't feel the warmth of his arms around him, couldn't see his smile or even simply be near him.

Ludwig stiffly pulled on his coat. He took a shaky step, followed by another, and another, until he was plodding down the sidewalk, pulling in gulps of cold air that made his lungs hurt.

This was all his fault. He had been right. He was killing his brother. The person he loved the most. He could never take it back, never make it better. He had done this.

All his fault. His life, changed. Forever. Gilbert. His brother. The person he loved the most.

_We should just stay away from each other._

His fault.

_Why can't I look at you without feeling disgusted with myself?_

His fault.

Ludwig was almost surprised when he found himself back at his dorm. He'd barely noticed the buildings passing by as he walked. He stared at the front entrance, the bright lights inside. He couldn't go in; not yet. He couldn't bear to see any familiar faces, let alone risk being trapped in a room with one. He had to be alone.

He wandered a ways down the sidewalk to a bench and sat. There was hardly anyone around at this time. Low chance of being spotted. He sat, and tried to think of nothing. _His fault._ Concentrate on the cold air against his cheeks, seeping through his layers. He was aware of discomfort, but felt distant from it, as if it weren't his own.

His phone vibrated in his coat pocket. He tugged it out, heart in his throat, barely daring to hope—

Voicemail from Angie.

His disappointment quickly morphed into muted dread. He'd completely forgotten the first disastrous meeting of that evening, overshadowed as it had been by the second. He briefly considered ignoring the message till tomorrow, but decided it would be best not to draw it out. Resigned, he pressed play and brought the phone to his ear.

" _Hi, uh, it's Angie."_ She sounded stuffy, like she might have been crying. _"You knew that. Right."_ A pause. _"Oh, fuck it. They always say you're not supposed to do it over text, so. I'm calling. To say that we're done. Because I have—I have tried and I have tried, Ludwig. And I thought—"_ There was an exhale that sounded like a laugh. Not an amused one. _"I actually thought I could make it work. Because you seemed—like you might actually be nice. I mean, I should have known it was too good to be true. The class hottie who fucked me in the bar bathroom, actually a nice, sensitive guy? Yeah, pretty pathetic."_ Deep breaths that crackled in the speaker. When her voice started again it was softer. _"I mean, every time I thought we were getting somewhere… it was like, one step forward, two steps back. And I'm done with it. I'm done with putting up with your shit and waiting for you to get it all sorted out because—I deserve more than that. It's taken me way too long to see it, but I do now. Everything is always about_ you _, Ludwig. You and your, your, drama with your brother, and, and, whatever the hell else—"_ She cut off and started again, curtly. _"I hope you get that figured out. I do. But it's not my responsibility to fix it for you, or to stand on the sidelines until it's convenient for you to pay attention to me. And—and just one more thing._ " Her voice was higher now, less controlled. _"If you think that a person is damaged goods just because…"_ She swallowed. _"I never said…_ You _chose those words, okay? Not me. I would never say that. And if that's how you think—I, I can't be with someone who thinks that way."_ She had started crying. _"Shit,"_ she mumbled, and the recording ended.

Ludwig let the hand holding the phone drop down to the bench. His fingers were nearly numb, but he didn't care. Didn't really care about anything. He couldn't find it in himself to be angry at Angie's words, because she was right. He wasn't even upset. Just numb.

The distant thought crossed his mind that at least he didn't have to worry about hiding the bite mark from her any more. That relief was about all the feeling he could muster.

What kind of monster did that make him, he wondered.

He sat, letting the acknowledgment sink in that he ruined everything he touched. His own life included. All his fault. He was poison.

Gilbert's face flashed into his mind, and he felt a dull ache in his chest. He pushed it away. If he thought of his brother now the pain would only consume him. Better to focus the cold permeating his skin, numbing his fingers and toes.

Better to feel nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive. And apparently so are you, if you're reading this! And thank you so, so much for reading. I'm sorry that after all this waiting you get such a damn depressing chapter. I promise it won't stay this way-but things always had to get worse before they could get better. I hope it lives up to expectations, nonetheless. Please consider leaving a review-I'd be ever so appreciative to hear from you if you're still with this story after all this time.
> 
> I won't promise that the next update will be quicker, since I seem to be terrible at keeping those promises, but I do promise you that I hope to finish the next update much sooner, if that's any comfort.
> 
> Next chapter: Gilbert makes an important decision.


End file.
